


A Digital Trip (and fall)

by sydneykate



Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Abstergo Industries, Action, Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Conspiracy, Crossover, Digital Trip, Drugs, F/M, Gun Violence, Humiliation, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Modern Assassins (Assassin's Creed), Public Sex, Sarcasm, Sedation, Semi-Public Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Video Game, Violence, defalt, how did I get here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:16:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydneykate/pseuds/sydneykate
Summary: Aiden screws up a simple carjacking, leading him to reluctantly take in an innocent bystander. Now caught in a game between the Fox and the rat, she'll have to put her faith in him if she wants to survive. Convinced he's a criminal, and rightly so, trusting Aiden is easier said than done.He unzipped the gray sweater and held it open. “Come on.”“I’m not putting that on.” If I could have pressed further into the metal wall, I would have--instead, I had to settle for dropping my eyes and looking away.“Right, turn around,”I froze. When I had said I wasn’t putting it on, I wondered if it was lost that I didn’t want him putting it on me either or if he just plainly ignored me. “You’re soaked, you keep it.” I motioned to him, water dripping from his pants onto the steel floor.“'You’re soaked'...and cold.” He turned his head slightly, as if to not look at me, "Trust me.”It had taken me a second, but when I looked down, the wet shirt's pattern did nothing to hide that I’d been “cold”. My head shot up, and I ripped the sweater from his arm. “What’s wrong with you?!”“Thought so.”





	1. GTA Chicago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note sarcasm  
> Our OC goes on an exciting vacation.  
> Aiden fucks up what should be a simple routine carjacking.  
> Our OC experiences GTA first hand.  
> Aiden realizes that OC is not great at Simon Says

My last-minute flight out of Logan Airport had been a long seven hours of space invasion and over-salted pretzels. I hated heights, the very idea of flying-- always had; when everyone was obsessing over Peter Pan and saying, “I want to fly,” I was happily reading books and anchoring myself to the ground. But finally, the plane touched down in Chicago and I survived all the elbows in my space and the sodium overdose.

  
The 'fasten seatbelt' light went off and I half heartedly listened to the uproar of chatter while reflecting on the first layover in Philadelphia. It was three hours ago that I had experienced what only canned sardines can relate to—everyone trying to fit into the aisle and out the door all at once. Having this experience under my belt only seemed to dredge up dread for the entire second leg of the flight. All of those "breathing tricks" and "happy place" techniques couldn't deter my mind from remembering the battle of disembarkment. Anxiety had a fierce grip.  
  
The gentleman to my left whacked his head standing up and I let out a breath I'd been unknowingly holding. He tried to act like he didn't just bonk himself on the head and all I could muster was "Made it." I had made it; in one piece, alive, and fairly well. Perhaps I'd get used to airplanes? ...no. No, I would not.  
  
The P.A. chimed and the captain enthusiastically thanked us 'for flying with United Aeroway', though I doubted anyone listened. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on the door, passengers were wrestling bags from the overhead compartment and continuing to push forward into the aisle, even my row buddy had moved an inch or two forward in line. The captain had barely enough time to hang up the mic and then the collective rush began, everyone wanted out. I wanted out too—the indents on the arms of my seat were proof enough, but I decided to be smarter this time. I patiently sat in my seat until the murmuring crowd had pushed and tripped themselves out of the doorway, after the horde had passed through just the few sensible remained. Once it was clear, I got up casually and grabbed my carry-on from overhead and wheeled it down the narrow aisle. In a timely fashion, immediately, I turned on my cell phone and stared at the small screen powering up, blissfully ignoring the flight crews' cheery smiles and waves as much as humanly possible.

  
I passed through the tarmac and entered the airport to a burst of cold air conditioned air and a plethora of advertisements. It was busy, too busy; Giant electronic signs touting CTos2 family safety, the smell of coffee, some wkz news feed filled the spaces between inaudible conversations and overhead droning. Stark white fluorescence overhead washed out any color variance and I found it hard to concentrate under the artificial light. I was definitely in Chicago, this was absolute, but this wasn't a vacation or a family reunion. Maybe you could stretch the truth and call it a deranged family reunion of sorts, but it was far from a barbecue social.

I came to this ironically orchestrated personal hell because my brother had been sick for quite some time. I guess I remembered him always having a chest cold and a cough, but at some point, he had found out it was something else and kept it to himself. The doctors had thought it was chronic pneumonia and bronchitis when he was a teenager, but then years later it made itself out to be lung cancer: terminal. He was my little brother, and as children we were great friends—we shared everything. But not this. I hadn't spoke to him in four or five years, I always seemed to find myself busy, I always had meant to call, but never picked up the phone. I never knew he was on borrowed time until two days ago, but only because he had died. My family's consensus lingered somewhere between my having known all this time and my brother and I being on bad terms and or estrangement. It could never be that I simply didn't know. A large part of me wanted to be spiteful and say I didn't care what they thought, but that tiny voice inside my head knew I'd be in a room with all of them, in a strained silence, alone. I found that I felt rather distraught over their lack of trust.  
  
"Ma'am? Ma'am?", the voice was polite, but annoyance could be heard under its shiny surface.  
  
"Yes?" I looked up, broken from my train of thought. The owner of the voice was a petite blonde who, thanks to the neckline of her blouse being dangerously low, looked like she belonged in the south pinned up on every 16-year-old's wall.  
  
"If you want to board, you'll have to wait in the back of the line." She squeaked with southern mannerism. Her eyes widened and she drew her gaze from me over to where I'd presume the line ended, if and when I'd look. So I waited a moment, to ensure that when I did look that it was my own idea and not hers. Yep, the end of the line. Damn it.  
  
"Sorry," embarrassment washed over me "I just got off a plane, I'm a little...."  
  
"Hun, you’re in an airport," She sucked her teeth and it was then I had realized she was being a bitch, “why don't you put your phone down sugar and look up every once in a while.”  
  
“Right," I took a step away from the angry conga line and went up an escalator.  
  
As annoying and rude as I found southern-belle-Barbie, I'd deal with her if it meant I could get on that plane and leave. I sighed at the thought of how desperately I wanted to get out of Chicago; the tourist in me was nowhere to be found. It was the constant worry I'd have to face everyone's glare when I got to the wake. Worse yet was that one of those glares would not be my brother's… Josh. His name is Josh. Or at least, it was. He may have been younger, but he had always been taller. I always hid behind him whenever things looked bad and he would dutifully assure me they'd be fine. Josh wasn't here to hide behind, and even if he had been, I wouldn't believe him if he told me “everything was going to be alright.”  
  
This time I was sure to pay close attention and pocket my phone. I found my way over to the Hartz Car Rental. Rentals were my last choice, but since my family and I were practically about to throw down, my pride couldn't risk hearing “no" from them. I may have had the pleasure of pity taken upon me by my own mother, but then I’d be trapped. I didn't want to be stuck at a wake full of grieving strangers trying to elicit some emotional response from me. I wanted to-. Even I didn't know what I wanted.  
  
"Ma'am? Ma'am?" a woman's voice called out. I snapped out of my pity party and paused in horror of this conversation ending up like the last one that began with "ma'am".  
  
I was spared spiraling into Deja-vu and walked out with a key to a brown boring economy car--one of those Toyeti Celetics, "economy-sports-cars" that looked like they may have almost been awesome if not for the fact that you knew the reputation of Toyeti and nothing they made was truly sporty...and it was brown.

  
"Henry," I declared to the car, "I'm going to call you Henry, and we are going to be great friends." There was that inevitable pang of loneliness as soon as I acknowledged I'd been speaking to the car. "This—this is what it has come down to." My disdain for driving in cities with this car was going to be my only intelligent conversation for the entirely of my stay and I damn well knew it. I put a hold on that thought--why was I convinced I wasn't going to incur the wrath of the entire Tristatt family, extended family, friends, neighbors, and football-sized pets at this thing? Maybe things would be fine? Maybe I wouldn't have to talk to the car. Maybe Josh’s death will bring us all together. Then again, my step father had instant messaged me this morning that he blamed me for Josh’s silence, so maybe I'd just avoid talking to him.

  
By the time I found my way out of the concrete parking garage, it was almost 3PM with a gently setting sun and what looked like miles of traffic. Though I was in a car for at least twenty minutes, I could feel the cold autumn air filter in and start to work on my resolve. I found it odd for a moment as I'd imagined Chicago would be warmer than Boston because it was out west, but then I realized that we were the same longitude, both places at the mercy of the northern fronts.

  
I glanced over at the digital clock: ninety minutes until showtime. 'Arrive early, leave early'. I pressed the FM button and the radio chimed a "special WKZ news update" followed. It was something about hacking--maybe some axe wielding maniac, and gang related stuff. Nothing that I was particularly focused on. Chicago has a reputation and this only confirmed it. I wasn't here for the drama of the city, I wasn’t invested in its politics or crime. I'm just here to do my thing and get out.

  
I glanced back down at my phone as the map app started and claimed a twenty-minute e.t.a. I was relieved it wasn't going to be that long of a ride—along with airplanes, I hated city traffic, so the quicker the better.  
  
About 6 minutes into the drive things seemed fine; no-one hit me and I didn't hit them. Immersed in that typical agitating city stop-and-go traffic, I found it easy to look past the brake-lights and become absorbed in the alien architecture of the tall buildings and the "art" scattered through-out. Someone beeped behind me and I noticed the light I sat at had turned green; maybe architecture was taking my mind off traffic a bit too much. I drove through the intersection and hit... another red light. A quick peek down at my phone, wondering if the app could reroute me through traffic. It couldn't. In fact, the map app hadn't updated my position and couldn't do shit at the moment. “The fuck?” I exited the map app and reopened it, hoping that something would refresh or reload—but nothing. I noticed my cell signal was non-existent. I had to either go straight or go left--and the only other thing I relied on my phone to do aside from making calls, was not working. The light had turned green and I opted to take a left across a long bridge.  
  
I quickly got the sense I hadn't taken the right turn. Once I drove over the long bridge the buildings became houses and the houses were tightly placed and bordered on the condemned side of the spectrum. My brother wouldn't live here, he had standards. I glanced down at my phone, waiting for it to rescue me from uncertainty. No signal. No directions. No rescue. I looked back up at the street for a sign or an indication of how to get back on the highway. Instead, I became increasingly aware of the neighborhood sitting on their front porches, pedestrians in hoodies with pants practically down to their knees, and a lot of young girls out on every corner. Call it profiling, but I locked the doors and told myself I wouldn't be making any stops—not if I could help it. Though, as if on cue, the light that I was approaching changed—so much for not stopping.

  
I'm a law-abiding citizen, so I stopped at the light and I waited for my phone to get its act together, “recalculating”. My heart skipped a beat and a smirk spread over my mouth. The light turned green and I waited a moment for the new route. Before my foot could touch the gas pedal and release the clutch, all of the locks popped up in one hollow 'thunk'. I froze--maybe I accidently unlocked it with my elbow? I turned to look at the buttons on the side of the door and found a tall man in a brown coat looming by my window. I raced to hit the lock button, but he pulled the door open before I could reach it.  
  
  
"Out," was all he said.  
  
  
I stared blankly, not processing the situation, "What?"  
  
"Out, now." He reached in and grabbed me by the arm and I grabbed my e-brake handle to keep me inside the car. Damn it 'Henry', apparently you weren't shitty enough to not get yourself stolen.  
  
I did the only sensible thing that came to mind and kicked out with my left leg. "No!”  
My eyes went wide; I didn't think that one through. He put something in my face and  
I stared passed it, trying to see him, until I realized that 'something' was a gun, "shit."  
  
"Get the fuck out." His eyes narrowed and that's all I could tell of his expression as the rest was hidden behind some sort of ski-mask or—

  
He tightened his grip and pulled my arm harder and pressed the barrel of the gun into my forehead. I wouldn't say I cried, but I definitely could feel tears starting to form over my vision.  
  
"I'm not getting out, I can't stay here!" I cried out with conviction, which was odd because inside I was asking myself what the hell was wrong with me. I wasn't sure why I was willing to risk my life for a car that only assured my misery once it took me to where Loogle Maps so desperately wanted to reroute.  
  
The sound of something distant slamming and screeching echoed out into the night, both myself and my assailant turned to see. The would be carjacker looked up and sighed angrily, tensed his grip on my arm then let it go. He leaned in, “Slide over!” I must have stared too long because he cocked the gun and pressed it harder to my head, “Move, now.” I snapped out of it and scrambled for the passenger seat, ending up with my back to the dash and door. With the gun still in hand he got in, slammed the door and stomped on the gas.  
  
This wasn't quite what I had in mind when I refused to leave my car: I was leaning towards him leaving me and my rental alone. He tucked the gun in the waist of his pants and pulled out his phone. He looked up at the road for a moment, glanced back down and yanked the wheel so hard that the back tires slid out and the car squealed as it turned sharply. Make no mistake, there were other cars on this road and he swerved around them as he regained his speed down the highway. I must have made a noise or it could have been the way I'd been holding onto my door because he glanced over quickly and said "seatbelt?"

  
We were quickly approaching the city, again, and all the cars were beginning to blur together. A jerk of the wheel broke me from my thoughts. I looked over at him—his attention shot down on his phone and with a quick glance back on the road another jerk of the wheel to correct the vehicle veering off I began to think the shady neighborhood was perhaps the better choice.  
  
"Still standing by your decision?" It was the second thing since he'd gotten in the car that sounded sarcastic.  
  
I opened my mouth to say something, it was clear he wasn't going to shoot me—he'd had done it already, and though I was still terrified, I wasn't sure I liked the snarky comments at my expense. Before I got a word out, my car drove through 3 lanes of traffic and onto an off ramp. My head slammed into the window and my hand quickly rose up to put pressure on where it throbbed "ah, fuck," I whimpered.  
  
I pressed myself against the door, now squarely sitting in the passenger seat and looked up at him again—his attention oscillated quickly between the phone and the road, faster than before. My eyes flickered down to his gun, halfway in his pants with the hilt exposed where coat didn't fall back over it. He was fixated on the road, still accelerating, and still swerving through traffic. I bit my lip and inched my hand to the center console.  
  
"Don't," he warned, his tone still unchanged.  
  
"Can I get out now?" feeling that my life was in more danger in the car, than out.  
  
"It's a little late to change your mind," He looked in the rearview mirror, his grip audibly tightened on the wheel, and then an explosion shook underneath the car and sent the rear up right before the tires met the pavement again and bounced. The metal frame of the car groaned for a moment and I whipped around in my seat to see a car behind us caught in a pressure burst of steam out if a crater in the road. It slammed less gracefully than poor Henry had and ceased moving.  
  
"Holy fuck!" I was starting to go into hysterics now, but continued to look back to the scene as we sped away. Through the chaos, two black cars muscled their way around the pit and started our way. The carjacker must have seen it too, because our car whined as it picked up speed and he pulled me down into my seat.  
"ShitShitShit! Is this a car chase? Did you steal my car and kidnap me because you're being chased?" I watched the cars gain in the right-side mirror.  
  
"Kidnap?" He was surprisingly calm despite the situation, but choked on the word, "I tried really hard not to 'kidnap' you..." He pulled up on the e-brake and the car did a hairpin turn before he released it and sent us in a new direction.  
  
I must have looked more concerned than I had when he nearly blew up the first car because he had rested his phone on his knee, reached over me, and pulled my seatbelt over and buckled it—straining to keep his eye line over the dashboard. l managed to maintain my one-sided staring contest, waiting to hear if this was indeed a car chase.  
  
He grabbed his phone and looked over at me, wide-eyed. "I'll try and get you out of this in one piece—sound good?"  
  
I didn't answer, it seemed rhetorical. I returned my eyes to the road ahead and it was then I noticed we were barreling towards an intersection—our light was red.  
  
"Umm?" I questioned, hoping he'd noticed. He ignored me and gripped his phone. I could hear the engine strain to fulfill his demands as we continued forward. "Hey, the light!” I pointed. Maybe it wasn't obvious to him. He was clearly a distracted driver. However, when he failed to respond or slow down, my breathing picked up and I started pressing the invisible brake down on my side. The light hadn't changed and nor did our direction. We were about 15 feet from the intersection when the lights went green. Cars casually rolled through the intersection but we miraculously managed to weave through. I looked back at the side mirror and the sound of metal impacting metal rang out. Our pursuers became entwined with cross traffic and were left behind in a sea of beeps, bent metal, and smoke.  
  
"So, if this car chase is done..."  
  
"Almost." He turned off the day-time running lights and made a quick turn between two tall brick buildings. The car idled for a second and then the engine shut off.  
  
"What are we doing?" I looked down at his gun again. Were we in an alley because this was the end of the line for me? He put his phone on his knee again and slouched down in his seat. He undid my buckle and motioned for me to follow suit. He didn't make eye contact or say anything but his breaths were heavy and slow, the only audible thing in the car. "Look, I just want to go." I put my hand on the door handle and he rushed to grab my arm and pull it to the center of the car.  
  
"Relax. You’re going to be alright.” He looked at the rear-view mirror and my eyes darted up that way as well. A black car crept by, along the street, hesitantly passing the alley. Its brakes made a high-pitched squeak as it slowed, reversed, and turned to come down this way.  
  
My heart thumped in my ears and my breaths became audible. This guy was out of his fucking mind to just wait here, and if he was running from these guys, how bad were they ? I glanced down at his phone, still resting on his knees. I did a quick visual sweep for my own that had gotten lost in the shuffle—probably somewhere on the floor, under my seat. I'd need to call for help. I looked quickly back at his phone then through the window. I couldn't exactly call the police—I’d be in Chicago longer than I had any desire to. I'd let this go if I could walk away from it. I’d call for a ride, get to the wake, family dinner, airport.  
  
I looked at him, his profile partially draped in shadow, just his green eyes catching the light over the dash, still looking in the mirror out the back window. I followed suit and checked my own side view mirror one more time; a black Owdi had stopped a few yards behind us. The carjacker’s grip had loosened on my arm over the center console. If I was going to make a move it was now or never. I tested my right hand on the door handle and in one smooth movement opened the door, pulled my hand from his grasp and grabbed his phone. I slid out into the narrow space between the car and the brick wall and scurried to the front of the car.  
  
The doors opened from the car behind my own and three grey-suited men stepped out, guns drawn, towards my car and me. "Fuck."  
  
  
"It's not him." One said.  
  
"Wrong car?" Another questioned.  
  
"Where the fuck is he?" This question was aimed at me. He brought the muzzle of his gun into view, aimed: though from this distance I couldn't tell where it'd hit.  
  
I was unsure what to do aside from put my hands up and maybe plead to be spared. Twice in one day I've had a gun pointed at me, but never before in my life up to this point. I got the very distinct feeling I was going to be shot whether I answered or not. I quietly watched, arms raised, frozen, as two of the men crept along side the driver's side of my car.  
  
"I asked you a fucking question," eyes locked on me as his associates navigated the slightly wider space between the vehicle and the wall. In a burst of movement, the driver's side door opened and the carjacker stepped out and swung open an expandable baton. He bashed one guy’s face point blank with the back of it and charged forward to spin the other guy around. The carjacker grabbed guy-number-two's forehead, tilted it back, dropped the baton, grabbed the gun tucked in his pants and shot him in the back of the head. He stepped back to let bogie number 2 fall, then stepped over him, towards the third one who no longer had his gun aimed at me.  
I felt my knees buckle at the casual manner he'd killed someone and instantly regretted my decision to take the phone.

  
Luckily, the third guy from the car opened fire—never did I think I'd find that lucky—and the carjacker ducked down out of sight. I took this opportunity to run, and I did; out of the other side of the alley and into a crowd of pedestrians .


	2. A Digital Trip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate loses Aiden
> 
> Kate looks through his phone.
> 
> Aiden finds Kate
> 
> Kate is accident prone
> 
> Fixers arrive on scene to "fix" things
> 
> Aiden reappears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you GisselleC1 and LethargicDynamo and anons for the kudos!
> 
> I tried to finish chapter two rather quickly, so here's hoping editing and grammar are up to par. Always interested in input.

The calm of the street felt surreal as I hurried along a sidewalk, safely encased in a group of strangers. My goal had been to put as much distance between myself and Henry, but I found that I’d constantly look behind me, wondering if it would be the man in the grey suit or the carjacker who emerged. Though, it wouldn’t matter who survived; I had made it less than a block away before the 5 police cruisers zoomed by, gathering at the mouth of the alley. CTos was good like that; response time was quicker, the police knew ahead of time what they were going in to--it felt like a win-win for everyone. 

Breaking from the crowd, I moved near the edge of the sidewalk towards the road, thinking back on my initial decision to not go to the police. They were conveniently _right there_. I hesitated, turning to continue down the sidewalk, then turning and heading back towards the cops. I’d happily tell the cops everything and I’d give them the phone. Maybe I wouldn’t get in trouble for how absolutely destroyed Henry likely was. I’d feel safer with them than looking over my shoulder for my stay in Chicago.

It was a feeling that I hadn’t anticipated, but the closer I drew near to the cops, the more panicked I felt. Everything for the last thirty minutes rapidly fired across my mind. It took the subtle vibrations of my newly acquired phone to be the proverbial pinch. I stopped dead in my tracks, dread washing over me in a rush of heat. I looked up at an officer, about 12 feet away, close enough that I could see his face and hear his voice--help was almost tangible. What if I yelled out to them? The phone spasmed again in my palm. I held the cell at waist height and did a double take when _my_ phone number lit up across the bottom of the screen. I slid the answer-bar, "Hello?" 

"You left?" The voice was so nonchalant that it took a second to register who it was. 

“You’re...alive?” 

“I am,” very matter-of-fact, “but I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

I looked around, trying to pinpoint where he was, if we were thinking the same _what_. I didn’t see him, though much couldn’t be seen with the strobing lights, “Do what? I’m not doing anything.” I took a few steps back.

“Good,” he sounded indifferent, “ Now then, you have something of mine.”

"I’m sorry..." I was unsure what the indifference in his tone had meant, but seeing as how he had been casually homicidal, I doubted it was actual indifference, "I needed a phone, I need to call…I lost my phone in the car—" 

"I noticed.” the faint sound of people talking filtered in, “Would you like it back?" I could hear in his voice that he was walking, something in the way he breathed. 

I turned around quickly and scanned the crowd for him—he wasn’t there. Abruptly, my herd stopped and I along with them, awaiting the pedestrian light to turn, "Hello?" He'd been quiet. 

"Can't see me?" The monotone had dissipated, leaving something that resembled a taunt. He _was_ able to see me. He knew I was looking for him. He knew I was walking towards the cops. But where was he?

I looked again and scanned the crowd, had even checked across the street to my right, but there was no-one quite as tall as I was sure he'd been, and no one was looking at me. "Where are you?" I didn't want to ask because I didn't want to know, but I was pretty sure there would be repercussions for taking his phone and I was thinking one if those repercussions would involve what happened to those guys from the alley. 

I turned around in one last effort to spot him when I noticed a tall man donning a black hat—our eyes met. It was him! Every hair on the back of my neck stood up and my chest tightened as he slid between people effortlessly, intimidating, "Are you going to kill me?" 

"You didn't exactly adhere to a _single_ thing I said, but I'm not particularly up for killing you," monotone, he broke eye contact and looked up ahead at the pedestrian light. Everyone started crossing, "stay put." 

Being rid of the phone would be a relief: it didn't seem like I'd have a moment to myself to call for help and I had a nagging suspicion that there was more to his phone than just a really good data plan. I took a step into the street and reluctantly looked back to see his pace quicken once I had moved. He killed one man, possibly two, stole my car, and broke every traffic law I could name—was he really going to simply trade phones and slither back to whatever hole he crawled out of? I doubted it. He had said I’d be alright, but I was far from it. I had begun to think that the only bargaining chip was this phone, but it was going to prove to be a double-edged sword.

The sound of metal brakes screaming under friction caught my attention and I looked up at the suspended tracks overhead. It was the commuter rail. I couldn't remember what they had called it, but I remembered hearing that they were extensive; as in 'far away from here’, extensive. I considered the rusty metal staircase that stretched up to the train platform, across the street to my left, and then I looked back. He was three people away. His eyes changed as he drew the realization of what I was about to do before I even knew I was going to do it. 

"Don't," was all he got out on the line before I took the phone from my ear and booked it. 

My heavy footsteps that slammed against the street I had crossed now clanked against the metal stairs. In my rapid ascent, I was sure I'd unapologetically shoved quite a few people out of the way, but considering my circumstances they'd serve as obstacles if he pursued me this far. When I made it to the first landing I looked down the stairs, against my better judgement, to see him scrambling to make his way up—staring me down all the meanwhile. I raced up the second set of stairs to hear the first telephonic "ding" of the doors and nearly tripped over the threshold. I regained my composure as the doors slid closed behind me, signaled by another "ding". I gasped for air and turned to face the door only to be startled by the carjacker's face on the other side of the glass panel. He hit the door haphazardly with his fist, likely because I was protected by the simple fact that there were people everywhere, witnesses.

He put the phone to his ear, maintaining eye contact, as the train started to crawl forward. Keeping my eyes on him I hesitantly followed suit and listened through the now static line. 

"Right," it was calm and his face remained emotionless as the train strained to gain speed, "that wasn't quite what I meant by "stay there"." 

"Uhhh…,” was all I got out before I ran out of intelligible things to say. 

"I'll be seeing you soon." Cold and something else underlying. 

"I really...hope...not." I could hear the uneasiness in my own voice over the hum of the train and I had wondered if he could too. 

The phone made an odd noise and in taking it away from my ear, I realized he'd hung up. Dread started to flare up. I was unsure how he planned on finding me, but I knew that before that happened I needed to find help. 

I stayed on the train for almost an hour and a half and had gotten off a few stops short of completing the loop at Keele. I had time to assess what I had; the clothes on my back, my wallet safely tucked into the surprisingly functional pocket of my jeans, and a phone that I regretted taking. That was all I had. The rest of my life was back in Henry’s little trunk, which was in an alley. I didn't dare go back to it in fear he'd drawn the same conclusion, or worse, those gray suits had friends and they were hanging around--so I pressed on and put my mind to finding my family. 

It was almost six; the wake was over and my family would be heading out somewhere dinner, if they weren't there already. Calling my mom was my first impulse—she habitually looked at her phone any spare moment she had and would likely be sympathetic to my plight, but when I went to dial her number on the foreign phone, I had realized my dependency on technology was ultimately crippling: I didn't know it. I opted for plan b; find a cab and get to my family as fast as possible. I had no way of knowing where'd they be, but I knew the last place they had been; the funeral home in Parker Square. 

A cab, though not cost effective, was efficient as far as time went. I wasn't surprised when I found the parking lot of the funeral home empty, the lights off and the front door locked, but I was upset and starting to feel helpless all the same. I parked my butt on the front steps and hoped one of my family members would show up once they'd realized I was missing. 

A bit of time had gone by and my need to be preoccupied coupled with my habit of going on Reddit had me scrolling through my newly acquired phone’s apps. Anything to put off the disappointment I’d had for missing the last chance to say goodbye to my brother. As soon as I thought it, a rush of emotion threatened to pour over the rim of my eyes. "May as well go home." This is what I'd come for and it was over. I wasn't going to lose any sleep not seeing any of my family, though I was sure seeing two people murdered, the car chase, and the car-jacking stalker were going to cost me a few nights. 

I looked up into the cloudy October sky. It was now 8PM; dark, cold, quiet. I half wanted to put on my jacket before I caught myself… it’s far away, in an alley, along with at least one dead body. I sighed, got up off the steps and began to walk down the street. 

Aimlessness and curiosity possessed me to continue to thumb through the phone. It was comforting to have the warm blue light hit my face. It felt normal. The first normal feeling for the day. 

A lot of what the phone had to offer were odd apps I'd never heard of; some seemed shady as fuck. A "Digital Trips" Icon caught my eye, so I had scrolled down the loaded playlist; “invaders", “groovy”, “coin run", "supersecretlolz". The app felt out of place for what I knew of him, which wasn't a lot, but most people found them relaxing; this man had no chill. "Pretty sure these things are illegal." I fished my ear-bud out of my back pocket, synced it to the phone and selected “groovy”. It took the app a few moments to respond, but when it had, it froze and crashed. I reopened the App, finding all trips had been greyed out. The app wouldn’t respond again, but I tried selecting “groovy” despite this. It seemed to freeze again, then read 'loading supersecretlolz’. I had just about enough time to raise an eyebrow, sigh in annoyance, and try to close out of it before it loaded. 

My vision blurred and the blue glow of the phone engulfed my face until everything was under blue light. I looked up and out of the brightness, confused about what was happening. It felt oddly calming if not for the thudding in my ears being progressively deafening. I turned my head to realize there was a drag in what I perceived to be real-time...I had the wherewithal to know this wasn't real-time, but nothing moved in real-time here. I could see people standing in the distance, a line going around the block. 

I quickly crossed the street, “Excuse me,” I called out. There was no response. I put my hand on someone’s shoulder and when I went to nudge them, the line move quickly, like they were on a bike chain. The line stopped and I saw a familiar face. It was none other than the carjacker. His silhouette filled in and it was like he was staring out, frozen. A line appeared above his head. I clicked the words faster than I could read them. A pit in my stomach formed, as if I'd looped on a roller coaster. Words, images, clips raced by me, crashing into my body. I was oddly unphased physically and then I recalled this wasn’t real. It was an odd version of augmented reality. A game. A light appeared over other silhouettes at the end luminescent lines connected to him. I had crossed the road to get closer. A force pushed me hard into the ground and I fell. A headlight and bumper started to materialize near my face in the blue landscape, but as I'd gotten up, the monochrome palette poured over it and a wide red line caught my attention. I got up on the sidewalk and everything felt stable and real for a moment as if I could see out of the illusion. Then a siren blared from one silhouette's mouth, the next and the next, down the line. I was bombarded with what felt like speed walking though I didn't move. The scenery rushed by me and I put my hands in front of my face to shield myself from the force. There were words above faces all on the way to something and it stretched into a single strand. I raced to cover my ears, felt the Bluetooth, pulled it off. Everything snapped out of existence. 

The phone vibrated in my hand and anxiety took over once when I recognized my cell number on the display, again. In that moment, pain flooded through my head and I put my hand to my face only to be shocked that blood clung to my fingers. I pulled the hood of my sweater up as far as it'd go—if I don't see it, it didn't happen. I couldn't make sense of it, nor could I make sense why I was on the ground near a pawn shop. The phone vibrated again. 

"Hello?" I answered, breathy. 

"How's your night going?" The voice was disturbingly familiar. 

I frowned. "I don't know how to answer that." I didn't. I found his calm demeanor to be unsettling. I saw him calmly kill two guys, calmly blast through busy intersections. Calm was not an indicator of this man's feelings. 

"Why'd you run?" His voice now sounded light, airy. Like he was in a good mood. 

" _You_ stole my car with me in it." 

“Touche. You stole my phone and I tried not to _steal_ you." 

"Still, you stole my car... And you killed two guys," I retorted, justifying my actions. 

"Three." 

"What?" I paused. 

"I’m not chasing you around town. Why don’t we trade phones and call it a night?" He sounded convincing and I wanted it to be true, but... 

"You killed people. How do I know the second I hand you this thing you won't kill me?" My words pushed closer and closer together. 

"Yes, but they were all very bad people." He began to seem more human, funny even. As if I would almost forget he had been dangerous. Worse was how he sidestepped my question.

"I don't know." I took a step back and bumped into something. I whipped around only to find the carjacker with his mask down, sporting a grin, "How did you find me?" 

He had put a hand on my shoulder and was quick to grab the phone from my lax grip. Once he inspected it, he looked down at me, hand still on my shoulder, holding me in place, "It's _that_ simple." His grin faded away once he looked up, above my eyes. Without hesitation or consideration, he touched my forehead. I muffled a shriek and my hand shot up to whack his hand away, “What happened to you?” 

I doubted highly that the phone obsessed, murdering carjacker cared about my head and I didn't exactly have an answer to offer. I ignored the question and put my hand out, waiting. 

He quietly studied my face for a few more seconds and then handed me my phone. 

"We're done? You won't come after me?" He turned away when I asked and I saw the glow of his phone cast light against him. 

"Good night, _Kate_." 

"Ok," it had caught me off guard, especially from him, but he had had my phone, I’m sure my name was on it somewhere. "Goodnight, _Aiden_." As soon as I said the name, I froze and put a hand over my mouth. Can I take that back? 

I turned around to see he, too, had turned—his face just as shocked, "What did you say?" 

“ God. I'm an idiot." I reprimanded myself and looked around for someone to witness my murder. 

"Ah-uh,." He'd quickly gotten closer, a whole lot closer. 

The front of his jacket brushed up against my knuckles and he towered over me. I took my hand off of my mouth and tried to step back, but he match my movements. He put his hands up to show he meant no harm, but I remembered the events earlier in the day and I didn't trust it, “Where’d you get the name?" His voice must have been light before, because now it was heavy. Serious. 

"The news?" 

"Nope," his eyes were fixed on me, no lie was getting through, “try again.” 

"I don't know. I heard one of those guys say it, I think." Was that true? Even I wasn't sure, but it was the only reasonable explanation. 

"Hmm," he pulled my head back and grabbed my chin a lot softer than I thought he would, “You get into a fight?" This again? I hadn't had time to assess the damage, but I wondered how it looked if he was asking about it. 

"It's fine." I'd tried to passively take my face from him and pull my hood more forward, but he touched it with his thumb. I took a clumsy step back and watched him closely--unsure of his motives.

"Right," he acted like _I_ was the weird one. I pointed over my shoulder, unsure if he’d keep his promise and if I’d be free to go. His attention began to divide between me and the phone until even I’d been unsure if I’d spoken. He had put a hand in his pocket and made his way down the sidewalk and crossed over when he'd gotten further down, “Call your mother, she sounds worried.” 

____________________ 

I called my mom, at last, and arranged a ride so I could get myself out of the middle of god-knows-nowhere. When she pulled up in her compact SUV, it was past ten and I was out of steam by that point. Her first maternal instinct was to chastise me for missing my brother's funeral to shack up with a man. Initially bewildered by her claims, it became apparent that the carjacker had answered a call and they'd spoken. I wondered about what, but couldn't muster the energy to ask. Somewhere in the lecture she threw out, “your own family just to be loosey goosey with some car dealer.” The accusation of missing my brother’s funeral for a sexual escapade was unexpected and hit hard. I took this time to participate in a silent crying fit. I’d been lost, had my car stolen, held at gunpoint twice, on a high-speed chase, saw two guys get killed. I was a wreck. 

"I'm going home tomorrow." I stopped crying suddenly and blurted it out. 

She sucked her teeth, "You’re bleeding?" I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. 

"I fell." I wasn't sure how to answer her typical hostility. 

"In my car?" 'Oh, here we go' was all I could think. “Don’t touch anything back there.” 

“Oh no, my child is hurt, don’t bleed on the upholstery,” I chided, “Are you even human anymore?” 

"You know, your father didn't even want to come with me because of you. You never consider how your family feels. But as soon as things go wrong, you come around looking for help.” She drove painfully slow down the road, all attention on me, “I buried my son today. You're all I have left. Didn’t you think I needed you there with me?” 

I was unsure if it was her odd way of expressing she'd missed me or if was the hit I'd taken to the head earlier, but the dull ache began to throb and take the forefront of my concentration, "Mom?" 

"You know, this behavior has to stop. You're not a child anymore. You can't be so selfish—" she ignored me. 

"Mom!" I yelled, my patience was non-existent as the pain spread to the back of my head and the base of my neck. While her concern for me was endearing, her method left much to be desired. 

Suddenly she stopped, "What? Too much?" 

"I need to go to the hospital." I put my hand to my head and tilted it back. 

"Why call me at all? You could have dialed 911?" She continued her unique form of expression and changed course. 

We idled outside the hospital, a few feet before the entrance for the emergency room. Streetlights flooded the parking lot nearby and light poured from inside the building into the night. I had made it in one piece to the hospital, but found I preferred planes over driving with her. She'd become overbearing over the years and incapable of editing herself...on a plane the pressure in my ears had rendered me deaf the entire flight—this would have been a blessing now. 

"Do you want me to come in?" She asked through the passenger-side window. 

"No." 

"I'm coming in. If you need to be at the hospital, it must be-" 

"No, it's fine." Fine was my universal word for the exact opposite, but this wasn't common knowledge. "I'll call you later." 

"I'm going to be sleeping, call me when you get home," she rolled up the window and rolled it down again, "I love you." 

"I know," I did my best impression of a smile and wandered into the emergency room. 

In a very short time, I learned that the emergency room was a complicated version of first come, first served. It was the initial idea, but they had a scale of emergencies that warranted breaking this rule. Head trauma was up there apparently because I was admitted and getting a CAT-scan within the same hour I'd showed up. 

"It's a severe concussion.” Mr. Ness, the E.R. doctor confirmed, though he'd told me before the scan that's what it was. 

"Ok, so do I get medicine for the headaches? I’m tired and I have a flight tomorrow and I'm tired." 

"You just said you're tired _twice,_ ” he looked at me for some sort of input, “short term memory loss, confusion,” another pause and I offered him nothing, “is why you've told me you’re tired and your want to leave about eight times now.” 

“I'm feeling it's because I want to impress those two things upon you.” 

He gave a gentle laugh, “Well, I have some good news and bad news,” another pause for effect, “good news is that I can give you Tylenol for the pain, bad news is we have to keep you awake through the night, you cease any strenuous activity fit the next week and I'm going to highly recommend you don't travel long-distance for at least 48 hours. Do you have family in the area that can pick you up tomorrow?” His attention diverted to his laptop, I assumed to look at my chart. Laptop's were indeed the thing now, no more paper charts and messy handwriting: everything was electronic—it was that way in Boston, too. His face changed. The smile dropped. He didn't seem warm anymore. 

“Is something the matter? My insurance?” 

He grimaced, “No no. Everything's fine. I've got an emergency I've got to attend to.” 

“Wait!” 

He turned around mid step, “the nurse will be in.” 

“Right, but I can't stay here. I have to get home. Can't I just get something a little stronger than Tylenol and be on my way?” 

“You have a concussion, someone has to monitor you tonight in case there are complications; seizures, death…” Of course, why not? 

“Seriously?" This was all seeming like the very opposite of what I'd wanted. 

"If you'll excuse me, I have a waiting room full of people.” He bolted out. 

I touched the thin cool fabric of the hospital gown I donned and furrowed my eyebrows. 

A nurse, Karen, came in moments later. She was chatty, but exhausted. She was sure to tell me she'd been there since 7am, and was supposed to have been home hours ago. With that perspective, I kept my negativity to myself and sat awake in the uncomfortable bed, watching the clock. Of all the things to be restricted from, why was it leaving? 

I was forbidden to fall asleep and every five minutes, or so it seemed, someone completely new popped in. My eyes were heavy and my body wanted to sleep through the pain. The Tylenol Dr Ness prescribed couldn't touch the pain my head was radiating. I wanted to scream and was about to until I felt my phone vibrate. It was likely my mom, checking in or to chew me out. 

“It's a concussion, doctor says I have to stay the night, can we skip round two of what a disappointment I am for tonight pick it up in the morning?" I was nonchalant; we’d done this dance before.

Silence followed by, "Hey." It was him! What did I call him before? Aiden. Adrenaline started to course through me and I was instantly on edge. 

"Oh my god! You!?" I sat up quickly and felt the pull of my body demand I lay back down. 

"Relax. Don't get loud," he breathed in deep and I tried to do the same, but couldn't, "but you’re going to have to cancel your plans, you’re leaving tonight." 

“Right, because you're not only a criminal, but a doctor too?” I was feeling a little more ballsy than usual. 

“Look at your monitor.” His tone unchanged. 

The only monitor I could think he referred to was the one beeping away as my heart picked up. Though come to think of it, I hadn't heard it in the last minute. I looked over and it no longer was the same black screen filled with meandering colored lines, but a video of about 5 people walking into the E.R. through the double sliding doors. 

"What is this?" I watched the feed change camera angles. 

"It's trouble." 

"Wait, what? Why is trouble here, I gave you back your phone?" I tried my best to whisper and crawled on the cold tiled floor between the bed and the window. 

"I know you have a concussion,” he went right to asshole-mode, “but try and recall when I told you to get out of the car and you decided against that?" 

"Yeah..." I didn't like where this was going. 

"And _then_ , do you remember later on when I told you not to get out of the car and you decided against that?" 

“You know, I am not currently suffering from short term memory loss, right?” 

“It would have explained a lot.” I heard something slam on his end of the line. “They're there for you.” 

"Oh god," I grabbed my head and tried to keep the room from spinning, "What am I supposed to do? Do I page the nurse?" I peeked back at the screen, it showed the corridor down the hall. The picture changed and it was the two elevators I'd taken earlier to get to this room on the fifth floor. The doors opened to reveal an empty elevator. 

“Don't,” it was stern, “you're in a room at the end of a hall, not one patient has been assigned to any of the rooms near you.” 

“So?” 

“You don't find it the least bit suspicious that you've got a whole wing to yourself?” He sighed in frustration, “Someone there knows there's a hit on you; you’re far from any help or witnesses.” 

Suddenly the doctors erratic behavior clicked. “Oh fuck.” I peeked out from the floor behind my bed, “I'm going to fucking die. Why are they coming after me? I'm gonna die.” I grabbed my clothes out of a bag of personal belongings I'd found in a wire compartment under the bed. The unrelenting pain pushed somewhere in the background and all I could think about was not dying in a hospital gown. 

"I'm going to help get you out-" 

"You're here?" I fumbled around in the bag and found my pants. 

"No, but I can get you passed these guys," he paused his sentence and had appeared on the monitor. I pulled my jeans up, pulled my sweater on and stared at the monitor as he leaned close to the camera, "just actually _follow_ my directions and you'll be alright." 

I had the feeling it would be easier said than done. "I can't do this right now." 

"Ok, then. You stay put, maybe they're selling Girl Scout cookies." He pulled away from the monitor and turned to do something out of my field of view. 

"Wait," worried he was going to leave me in this predicament, "what do I have to do?" I couldn't find my shoes. Hospital socks it was, then. 

The monitor turned off and I could hear a faint voice from my phone. I hesitantly put it up to my ear, "We'll talk like this," he paused and I had been able to hear the distinctive sound of a car door close on his side, "wait by the door and get ready to go left down the hall." 

I stood up against the wall and watched the hall through the ajar door, waiting for the word to go.


	3. Follow My Lead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate escapes her predicament with some help, but not without catching a bullet

A long period of quiet had given me time to play scenarios through my mind. They all ended with me dead, or close to it, but the mental exercise beat any surprises I’d incur. 

"Get ready to move," it was an abrupt voice to pierce the chaos in my head. My right hand, closest to the door, trembled with anticipation. In his pause, I could hear an engine rev over the phone, "now." 

I carefully swung the large door open, cringing as it let out a prolonged creak into the empty hall. I had held my breath, froze, and peaked out through squinted eyes.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" Apparently that was audible on his end.

"I can’t control the fucking door!” I whisper yelled. 

"Move it, your window’s closing," he spoke over me, urgency evident. I slid out the door, crouched down and went left through the hall by an unattended nurse's station. 

"What now?" I breathed lowly. 

"Stay put." As he'd said it, I began to notice faint footsteps pattering across the linoleum, somewhere near the opposite side of the station. I had put my hands over my face to try and muffle my breathing, "It's just the nurse, relax." 

How did he know? I looked up at the ceiling—domed-cameras, of course. "She'll be checking on me shortly," I retorted his " _relax_ ". 

"No-one's coming to _check on you_ , you're about to be executed," he huffed, "go around the desk and stay left." 

I crawled around the desk, stood up, and checked the right end of the hall; the nurse wasn't there; no-one in the halls, no-one behind the desk. Did everyone here know shit was about to go down, except me? I gingerly walked across the cold floor, sticking close to the walls, and stopped short of the corner. "Do I—" 

"Hold on," he snapped as the elevator chimed. My ears pricked up, "you need to hide! Now!” 

"What is it?" I backed down the hall and started turning door knobs, to no avail. "Everything's locked!" It was then that I heard the chime again and the elevator's mechanical doors open, followed by several footsteps. There were no voices, but as the clacks on the floor drew closer, I began to panic. 

A door I rushed by buzzed and clicked. I paused mid-stride and almost crashed onto my face, "Dry storage?” 

“Move it.” 

I pulled it open, ducked in, put my back against the door and slid down to the ground. "Who the hell are they?" 

"Fixers...mostly." His attention divided.

"Oh," like maintenance or something, "I thought it was the 'trouble'.” Somewhere in the middle of everything, I felt slight relief. 

"At what point do you consider yourself in trouble?" He sounded amused now. 

"I guess when someone's trying to kill me," I was sure there was something more to it.

"Consider yourself in trouble." 

"You said—" Were they murderous janitors?

"Fixers, you have no idea what they are?" Amusement and disappointment simultaneously. 

"Uh, I take it they're not maintenance.” 

"I guess you could say that..." he sounded ominous as someone on the other side of the door tried the handle and moved on. "Fixers, they 'fix' things,” a dramatic pause, “usually they assign hits, so the fact they're out here...” 

"Oh god," I listened through the door and tried to guess how many there were, 

"what am I supposed to do?" 

"Get ready, you’ll open the door, go right, run for the elevator at the end of the hall." I heard the engine on his side shut off, the background void of the low rumble. 

"I can't, they're close" 

"You need to trust me here," I heard a car door shut on his side, "If you don't want to die, go now!" 

I hesitated grabbing the knob, I could hear my would-be killers not far from the door. The whole situation felt disturbingly contrived. How would anyone know I was here? Why would anyone go through all of this just to come after me? More so, why was Aiden helping me? For all I knew. he was one of these guys—a fixer. He probably wanted me dead at this point. Though, what choice did I have at this point, but to go along with it. I pushed the thought aside and pulled the door open. 

My first mistake was that I paused in the middle of the hall when I saw three men with guns drawn, turn to face me and aim. My second mistake was sliding on the floor with my hospital-issued socks and failing to regain traction for what felt like an eternity. My third mistake was that I got shot in the back and froze. I could hear the carjacker yell repeatedly over the phone "fucking move," and I tried to. Pain radiated through my back to my chest, my shoulder spasmed, and the hit-men closed in. 

Enough adrenaline finally coursed through me and gave me a much-needed shove. I snapped out of my shock, unable to feel the pain for a moment and ran for the elevator. As I neared, the doors sprang open in anticipation and I hit the back wall. I turned to face them, the pain pulsing through, now covering my arm in blood. My blood. As if they perfected synchronized assassinations, all guns were pointed at me as walked at the same pace. The same expressionless face donned on each one. Their movements seemed cold. Exact. 

"Take cover," I could faintly hear. I hid behind the short wall below the fire emergency panel and the doors casually dinged twice and shut. The fusilade thudded against the doors, dissipating to a dull popping sound after the elevator descended one full level down. My ears rang and I stayed in the corner for a moment until I was sure the shooting stopped. 

I touched the left side of my shoulder where I'd been hit and pulled my hand away when it felt like I couldn't breathe. I was unsure if I'd been hit more than once or if one had gone straight through, pain continued to pour in and heard a cry escaped my mouth. 

"Hey," I could hear my phone. I shakily picked it up, [Battery Critically Low], 2%. I put it up to my ear. 

"Are you hit?" I cried harder, unable to gather myself, "Answer me, are you hit?!' 

I looked up at the camera over head, turning left and right, “I want to go home! Everyone’s fucking trying to kill me. I can’t fucking do this!" I sobbed. 

"Kate, you’re directly under the camera, I can't see you," impatiently calm, “are you hit?” 

"I'm fine." I snarled. 

"O…k…," he hesitated, "they'll be expecting you in the lobby, so we're going to the basement." 

If there was anything I hadn't been oblivious to, it was what was in the basement of hospitals—the morgue. No windows. Cold. Lots of dead people. I didn't want to go there. It felt like I'd be going there to die. I probably was about to; my phone had chosen this moment to do so, so why not me? I started to ease up on the crying and tried to hear outside the elevator as it passed by the lobby and down towards the basement. 

The ride down ended and the camera above had ceased turning. The doors dinged, opened, and then began to close. Still slumped on the ground, back against the wall, I stretched my foot out in between the doors to keep the elevator there and tried powering on my phone again. Frustration swelled as shut down once it completed its start-up, then settled into apathy.

I had wanted to get up, had tried a few times, but my body was stiff. I was exhausted but not hopeless. I opted to crawl, if you could imagine a loose-term of the word, to the end of the hallway and under a large sink. I knew it was hilariously inefficient as a hiding spot, but I couldn't stand and it hurt to reach up. 

The elevator was called up and I watched from the end of the hall as the light stopped on the first floor and began its descent. I had kinda wondered with all the tricks the carjacker could pull with the cameras and doors , if they could, too. Maybe not the cameras and doors it seemed, but they’d gotten passed the turn-key security for the base-ment. That was something. 

Again, the elevator chimed, the doors opened and two men stepped out. I watched the look that spread across one of their faces as we caught each other’s. The cold eyes of a reptile pleased to come upon injured prey. And why wouldn't they be pleased? I couldn't run, there was no place to hide. 

Surprisingly, I had felt calm. A lazy feeling washed over me. I had been so worried through this whole ordeal that knowing it was almost over was somewhat pacifying. A part of me enjoyed the predictably of that moment, the other part was too tired to panic. I wanted to close my eyes desperately and just be done with it. I didn’t want to run or hide. Things were definitely heading in that direction, until all of the lights wound down and the red emergency lights struggled to kick on. I couldn’t see them anymore. 

I thought I heard Josh's voice call my name. “Josh?” I rallied for a moment, sitting up and looking out into the pitch black. 

I was ripped out from my hiding place by my wrist, harshly, and drew a breath to scream. A well-timed hand over my mouth kept that from being a reality, so I resorted to trying to smack or hit whoever it was, to no avail. My arm was once again yanked up and someone's arm pushed under my own and wrapped around my back. The weight of my leaning and being supported by my arm caused the pain to spike, my knees buckled. Gunshots echoed out and I was partially dragged, my torso bumping into the wall as I tried to keep upright. 

A hard metal sound reverberated off the walls and I realized that my savior had kicked a fire-door open "Stand." My head snapped up. I recognized that demanding voice. 

"You?" 

"Me." He started for the stairs and practically dragged me down them. 

A car sat parked on the sidewalk, beeped and he opened the passenger side door and rolled me in the back. The door slammed shut and for a moment everything was starkly quiet until he'd gotten in on the driver's side. The car roared to life with a turn of the key and I watched the streetlights zip as he sped off down the road. The car jerked and my head smacked the door, "How do you have a license?" 

He ignored my question, "Where are you hit?” 

I didn't answer. I heard him, I had a few theories on exactly where I’d been hit, but hesitated. Some part of me was still waiting to see if I'd hear Josh again. 

“You said you were _fine_.” He sounded angry. Did this warrant anger? 

“I _am_ fine.” I woke from my daze, abandoning the notion I'd heard Josh or that he was ever there. 

“You’re fine?!” he asked incredulously. He turned back to face me, “Sit up.” A quick glance forward, likely watching the road. 

"Huh?" My mind started to slip as the warm glow of the streetlights faded and the night dotted the sky. 

"Hey, stay awake." He snapped his fingers a few times.

"I am. I just… it hurts to sit up.” No sooner did I say it, did I realize I was on my way out. 

"Kate!" He yelled, his voice overlapping with the one I’d heard in the morgue. 

“Josh?” I whispered. 

“There's no-one else here,” he had heard me, “Josh, isn't that your-?” He reached back and yanked my arm towards him. The sharpness of the pain shot through me—I was instantly nauseous. 

I rolled to face the floor and began to cry. "Fuck,” he let go of my arm, “deep breaths, stay with it." He turned the car and put it in park. My door opened shortly after, followed by my being dragged out on the pavement. 

"I'm not carrying you, get up." It was the last bit of frustration I'd heard before I slipped off and closed my eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Lookeshanda, GisselleC1, and LethargicDynamo and anons for the kudos!


	4. Don't Do Anything Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate wakes up someplace entirely different
> 
> Aiden practices patience and how to wrap a shoulder
> 
> Kate tries to leave 
> 
> Aiden uses questionable methods to prevent this
> 
> Kate trusts Aiden as far as she can throw him
> 
> Aiden shares the sentiment
> 
> Kate gets ready to head home.

There was no need for a clock or a window to know I'd woken up sometime between two or three in the morning: my mind was a hazy mix of the dream I’d just had and the sensation of being grounded. I laid still, debating whether or not I had enough time to go back to sleep before work and moved my arm up to search for my phone. Instead of my phone, I found that my arm, chest, back pulsed with rapid-fire pain. The haze receded from my mind and I suddenly remembered the elevator ride down to the morgue. My eyes shot open and I raced to sit up, though, the motion came with more pain—more than what had felt applicable. I collapsed back down and regained a semblance of composure. My ragged breath the only thing audible in the dark.

  
Patiently, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the dark and for the waves of pain to release their hold. My breaths became lighter, more even, then the throbs died down to a dull ache. The first thing that came into view were the frayed ends of a blanket resting over half of my face. The longer I stared passed them, the further out I could see—just a few inches from my face, on an end table, was a box of pizza with grease wicked up its sides. I was pretty sure it was responsible for the stale smell wafting in the cold air. I groaned, flopped the blanket off my face and turned my head away.

  
There were the makings of a window with the blinds drawn, curtains closed, and beneath it a couch only a few feet away from me. Though I couldn't make out much on the couch, I was sure something moved. “Hello?” I whispered and watched, eyes fixed and waiting for something, anything. Nothing happened, nothing moved or made a noise.  
  
I turned my head back towards the pizza box again and noted a table in the middle of the room with several computer monitors generating lines too small to read. Their faint glow touched the edges of every nearby surface, including three stacked towers at the foot of the bed, "Someone's been hitting the MMOs hard."  
  
  
A muffled groan from my right, somewhere in the vicinity of the couch—so it wasn’t nothing over there. It had to be him. Parts of the night ebbed and flowed, slowly. Aiden had been the last person I’d seen, and he was pissed about something. I mentally shushed myself and decided another round of escape was in-order; though I’d avoid the hospital. Last time I took inventory of crap that was going to get me killed, Aiden wasn't only trouble himself, but had a shit ton in tow. I'd had my fill of trauma and terror and wanted as much distance between us. I played with the notion of going straight to the police station once I’d left, but he’d warned against it. Part of me wondered if it was because, like the hospital, they were in on this grandiose conspiracy to kill me, or if he, like a typical bad guy, did not want me to report his sorry ass. “Fuck it.” I sighed.  
  
I drew in a sharp breath, anticipating the pain, and began my awkward ascent into the sitting position. It was a fairly quick process, unlike getting up on my feet—about five minutes later, once I was on my feet, walking was a breeze.  
  
Murphy's law came into play as soon as I had taken my first step; the floor creaked, instantly I flashed back to the door from the hospital. I paused, rather comically I was sure, but as the events from the hospital became clear, I recalled all the stupid shit that led up to me getting shot. This time...I'd be more careful. More aware. Though I couldn't see anyone, and no-one made themselves known, my eyes kept darting back to the only part of the room that remained unknown, the couch.  
  
The dim glow of electronics brushed a reflection on a door knob and I crept my way across the room, my right arm extended out. On the short journey, I passed the table with two monitors, a stack of towers against the wall and managed to quietly get caught up on a menagerie of cords. The kitchenette to my right didn't look promising for the prospects of being a normal, responsible adult; more pizza boxes and Chinese take-out covered its counter. I'd drawn a new conclusion that Aiden, while clearly dangerous and slightly psychotic, was a gruff man-child who’d be alone—for life, and this was evident with the lights off.

  
  
My hand finally touched the cold metal of the knob and on an internal count to three, I opened it quickly, went through and slammed it shut behind me. In my rush forward through the dark, my shin hit something and I gracelessly fell. The ground was slimy and wet. I knew this feeling... smell... it was the bottom of a tub. His apartment looked absolutely disgusting, what did that mean for the bathroom? I gasped once I realized the error I'd made, though expanding my lungs only served as a reminder there'd been an extra hole in my body, and pushed myself up off the tub floor.

  
  
A quick knock on the door followed by the lights flickering on caught me off guard. I reached carefully for the lock, pushed the button in, and looked around for an exit, but alas, I locked myself in an awful green-tiled bathroom, complete with brown bottomed tub, and toilet water ring.

  
"Hey, everything ok in there?" It was the car-jacker; sleepiness in his voice. A few moments lapsed and another knock on the door followed, “Kate?”  
  
I stared at the closed door, wide eyed, unsure how to respond, "I’m fine!"  
  
He tried the knob again. “Open the door.” This was a little early in our dialog to seem unamused.  
  
“I'm in the bathroom, I'm not opening the door! Go away” perhaps I could shame him into going away.  
  
“Not happening,” his voice was closer to the door, “what was all the commotion?” He gave me a moment, but I didn't have an answer that didn't make me look guilty.  
  
“Can I just...have...five minutes to myself?”  
  
“Either you open the door, or I'll open it for you.” I didn't respond, not immediately.  
  
“I fell.”  
  
“Speak up, I can't hear you.”  
  
“The 'commotion'; I fell.” I yelled.  
  
“You couldn't say that before, because?” He was still trying the handle. “Are you trying to climb out the window?”  
  
"No!" But that wasn't a bad idea. I winced as I moved towards the window, every movement felt like my shoulder and back were ripping apart, rested a palm on the underside and pushed up. It opened relatively easy, but there was one little hang-up: it was the second floor—and that was a problem.  
  
"Did you just open the window?" He was fidgeting with the knob, probably the lock. The faint sounds of scraping metal were barely noticeable over the sounds of traffic that wedged through the opening.  
  
Maybe the fall wouldn't kill me--but could I continue my evasion with two broken legs? I heard a drop of water hit the floor. Reflexively, I looked down. It was red. Okay, not water. Looking at the back of my left hand which suddenly felt wet, I had trails of it coming down my arm. Anxiety took hold of me. I walked to the sink to figure this out in the mirror. My chest, arm covered in dark blood. “Oh, fuck.” My hands grabbed the side of the sink and I suddenly felt dizzy. It felt as though my lungs couldn't draw breath. My vision narrowed to just my immediate front.  
  
The door popped open and he stood in the threshold for a moment before stepping behind me to pull me back into him.  
  
“I can't breathe,” I gasped, frantically trying to pry his arms off me, “I can't breathe.”  
  
“You’re talking, you can breathe.” He was not all too concerned and that made me consider relaxing. He released his hold, and I looked in the mirror again; my knees buckled and my body shuddered at the sight of blood, my blood. A firm hand on my shoulder brought me backwards, “Stop looking at it, I'm not carrying you again.”  
  
He guided me back to the bed, a small lamp illuminated that room leaving nothing to imagination. “Sit,” he didn't make eye contact, but looked at me, my back and shoulder more specifically. I sat at the edge of the bed, quietly, awkwardly. He shuffled over to the tiny kitchenette and rummaged through a large duffle bag and returned with rolls of bandages, tape, and other odds and ends.

He pulled up a metal chair and plopped down in front of me. “Let's set some ground rules,” now he made eye contact and I didn't like it, “no talking or crying, don’t move, don't touch me, don't pass out.” He was quiet for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. I couldn't tell if he was trying to be funny, but it was probably safer if I assumed not, “Nod if you understand.”  
  
There were a few initial bumps in the road; things that did not follow the rules. Aiden's initial attempt to cut the neck of my t-shirt, which in fact was not even my t-shirt, didn't go over so well. When he’d reached peak frustration with my hands getting in the way and the repeated 'no's, he had tensed, sat up straight with scissors still in hand, “I'm going to need you to stop.”

“I'm going to need _you_ to stop.” I retorted, clutching what little modesty I had left.

A grin almost crept through and then he straightened the façade to apathy, “How do you think you got that shirt on to begin with?” My eyes widened, I hadn't thought of that. “Who do you think cleaned out the wound and bandaged you? You didn't come that way.” He sat back and watched defeat kill what little left I had had of control, or at least the notion of it.

I spent an hour quietly grimacing and studying his face while he completely ignored me. I tried to focus on listening to him breathe, and how his breaths changed when I'd move. He didn't say anything, he didn't need to. I'd try to be still and we'd rinse and repeat. It was almost therapeutic right up until the point after he'd secured the last bandage with tape and had then fished out a small glass vial from the pile of stuff on the bed. He wiped it with a cotton ball he'd drenched in rubbing alcohol and busted out a syringe. I put my hands up, “No,no,no! What's that for?”  
  
“Well, it’s not for me,” he lightly whacked my hands away, “Sit still, we're almost done.”  
  
“Look, I don't want any trouble,” I kept my eye on the syringe, “and I don't want whatever that is.”  
  
He smirked, the corners of his mouth turned down to prevent a full-on smile, "You _don't_ want any trouble?” he motioned at my shoulder, “that could have been avoided--stealing my phone, going through my shit, sneaking around my apartment—where’s the part where you don't want any trouble?" His face changed halfway through, almost placid, but his voice said it all: he was pissed.  
  
“What is it?” I had more urgent things on my mind: like why this was turning into an episode of American Horror Story. I continue to evade his hands by casually swatting them away.

  
“It'll take the edge off. Now, stop moving. I don't want to do this a fourth time,” It was almost hostile. He was tired. Worn.  
  
“Fourth? What happened the-” he put a finger over his mouth, softening his face upon eye contact. I looked away.  
  
“My point is, if I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t be patching you up; you wouldn't be here,” I put my hands down. He rolled up the right sleeve of my newly gifted grey I <3 Chicago shirt and took the cap off with his teeth, “I’m doing my best to unfuck your situation,” he drew back on the plunger, the clear fluid flowing up into the syringe, pushing the back up, “a little trust on your end would help things go smoother,” a quick jab into my arm and it was over. He capped the needle and tossed it in the pile of bloody bandages on the floor. It was truly an improvement on the decor.  
  
“Now,” turning back to me, “you fucked with something on my phone and I need to know what it was.”  
  
I thought about what he could possibly be referring to, I didn't really do much on it—it hit me, "You mean super secret lolz?” my jaw dropped, “No! Not on purpose." That stupid thing?  
  
" _That_ would be the one." He put a heavy hand on my shoulder and his grip tightened ever so slightly "It's corrupted. And before you feed me a story about how it wasn't you, I know you paired something with my phone--I know you opened it," he rolled my sleeve back down, his voice neutral, “There’s a long list of people after it, and we were the last ones with it.” He left a pregnant pause, “That's why there's a hit on you, you've been nearly killed twice. ”  
  
“Are we not counting the initial gun-in-my-face carjacking and the high-speed chase? I’m counting 4 times.”  
  
“I wasn't going to kill you, I needed you out of the car.” He'd said it so matter-of-fact, like I should have known. He got up from the chair and stretched his arms up, “What's on it?”  
  
“I don't know. Can't you just...get another one? You can buy them from pretty much anyone who codes,” I looked up to see he was less than amused.  
  
"Not.this.one.”  
  
I must have looked like a deer in headlights, he put his palms up and took a few steps back. “Just...walk me through it. What happened after you left your car?”  
  
I thought about arguing his claim that I'd left my car, but the idea that of all the things I looked at on his phone--it was the one I was going to be killed over, overwhelmed my train of thought. I ignored his question, "Why would you have it there, casually, with all your apps? Your phone's not even password protected.” It was a good question and it would buy me some time to think.  
  
He sighed, "I don’t have all day to explain it to you. The file is, was, a digital trip, that's where it was stored. I didn’t exactly have a lot of time between when I acquired it to when I ran into you” he sat down on the bed next to me now, “I'm not usually separated from my phone.”  
  
"There's nothing worth a car chase on it,” I stared at the three monitors, partially in disbelief with how he just described running into me, "everything was blue, literally everything."  
  
"I don't think so." His tone switched to one more accusatory.  
  
"I'm serious.” I sporadically yawned, “Everything was blue and then I think I got hit by a car because of it, but there's nothing worth-" I pointed to the epicenter of hurt in my chest, "What's it supposed to be?"  
  
"Hmm," he laid back, just missing the stacked towers at the end of the bed, "a lot of power over a lot of people."  
  
"Uh?"  
  
"It's blackmail. Anyone that ever crossed Defalt, anyone that ever went after him..."  
  
I breathed deeply, my eyes suddenly unable to focus on anything, something felt off, “That's it? That's why I'm being—traumatized? Blackmail?" I slouched back, unwillingly, growing more and more aware that I was about to conk-out, suspicious as to why it was so sudden.  
  
"It's a lot of leverage over a lot of dangerous people." He was watching me now, his head tipped up towards me. I tried to sit back up, but a heavy arm stretched over my chest, like a seatbelt, weighed me down, “Don't try to fight it.”  
  
“You? You said 'take the edge off', this is...," I could feel myself pull away from my mind, "The speech on trust, and you…fuck," I could feel the earth spin and allowed my head to sink into the mattress. "Supersecretlolz, Why are you on it?"  
  
He sat up abruptly, "That’s a big change from nothing and 'everything was blue.’"  
  
I kept telling myself inwardly ‘stay awake’. “There’s nothing on it,” another wave of motion left me dizzy, though I hadn’t moved, “even if there was, I wouldn’t tell you shit.” I couldn’t see his face, but I didn’t need to—I knew I was pushing whatever buttons I could, “You shoulda been shot, not me.” My words slurred.  
  
“I know.” It was oddly sincere.  
  
  
I woke up, groggy, to blindingly bright lights and the sound of car horns far off. It took me a few moments to gather my thoughts before I’d recalled that I had been for lack of a better word; tranqed. “Fucker.” I sat myself up, still feeling the spin of the world. It was Aiden’s apartment, the pizza boxes were a dead give-away, but it was otherwise empty. The computers, towers, everything was gone. “Aiden?” I looked over to the couch, but it was empty, save for a paper bag partially rolled down.

I got myself up and looked around for any indication of what happened. The only conclusion I could logically draw was that he took his little W.O.W. rig and left, but why? And why would he leave me here?

  
I’d made way over to the couch after I’d looked in the bathroom, the kitchenette cupboards, and sighed as I looked at the bag from across the room. Hesitantly unrolling the top, I was surprised to find a note haphazardly written on the back of a receipt;

“Kate, I'm going to fix this. In the meantime, leave Chicago and lay low. Don’t call your family and keep off social media. Don’t do anything stupid. -”

The bag had what I initially thought was my license; the picture was my own, but the rest was someone else entirely. There was a black sling, a pre-loaded card, my phone with the back and battery taken off, a SIM card taped to the edge of receipt, and a buttoned up long-sleeved shirt that must have been abandoned by a Lumberjack—red and black flannel. I picked up the shirt to find small shreds of plastic clinging to it and on the bottom of the bag. Upon further inspection, they weren’t all that random--that asshole shredded my ID, credit cards, banking card, even my gym membership. It felt spiteful on his part.  
  
I played ball; I put the new SIM card in my phone, cosplayed as an injured Canadian, and called a cab to the airport. He didn’t leave me much in the way of choice and I didn’t have much of a reason to think he’d given me bad advice—he did save me after all...though he was the reason I needed saving. I shook it off.  
  
The taxi ride to the airport was spent in disbelief. Was I finally leaving Chicago? Was this actually happening? I went in through the Main Entrance’s rotating door, made my way up an escalator and to the front desk. I passed a series of small screens all part of a bigger picture and eyed the United Aeroway kiosk across the way. Home was so close--'just a few more hours' I kept telling myself.  


I walked up to the self-serve kiosk and started the process. When it came to the point of needing to scan my license, I felt hesitant, and so did the machine. After my third attempt, it gave me “Please wait for attendant.” My heart wanted to crawl its way up my throat. “May I help you?” I turned around and my jaw dropped when of all the people employed in this airport, it had to be Southern Belle Barbie.

  
First, she smiled, and then she made a face I'd imagined mirrored my own, disdain. "Oh you," she paused and recovered, "dear."  
  
"Hello again." I offered her my best fake smile without reservation. I’d be nice if nice got me home.  
  
“What seems to be the problem?”

“It's not scanning the bar code.” I pointed to the license I’d rested on the kiosk and tried my hardest to sound casual about it.

She slid it off the top and proceeded to try and swipe it, attempt after attempt failing. She looked at the card, “Well Susie, well just have to type your license number in manually.” I did a double take when I heard the name. Right, my first day as 'Susie'. Typing it in manually seemed to work, however, southern bell-Barbie took it upon herself to linger. "What flight are you looking to board?" I frowned a bit.  
  
"Boston, today. Now."  
  
"There's a 7:15 P.M. , non-stop, or a 8:30 P.M., but with two lay-overs."  
  
"What's the price difference?" I touched my left arm, unable to fold them in annoyance.  
  
"They're the same." Her accent was heavy on the "s".  
  
"So, obviously the one without the lay-overs." Now that the license fiasco was over, I didn't have to be nice to her; she had to be nice to me.  
  
"Well my momma always told me to never assume," her smile was saccharin sweet, "like you'd think if there was a line, you'd go to end, not the beginning-“ alas, she was still being a bitch.  
  
"The non lay-over." I was still embarrassed over that whole ordeal and cut her off.  
  
"What an excellent choice." She pressed the buttons on the kiosk that I was more than capable of doing on my own and my ticket printed, sliding out a slot towards the bottom of the screen. "Do you have any bags you wanna check?"  
  
I looked at the empty space on both sides of me, "Nope."  
  
"Travel light, doncha?"  
  
"Somehow, I feel like I'm taking more baggage back," and with that, I'd left her puzzled and went through the security check-point.  
  
I sat in the noise-saturated airport listlessly staring at my phone for nearly two hours. It was just like it'd been the day I had arrived; chatter, announcements, the wheels on suitcases bridging the gaps between tiles, and a ten-minute loop of commercials. In less than an hour I'd be on a direct flight home, I’d be in my own bed before midnight: I didn't mind drowning in the noise.

  
“We're receiving reports from Chicago PD that a triple homicide took place Tuesday in downtown Chicago. Thanks to CTos2, police have been able to determine their prime suspect is 27-year-old SydneyKate Tristatt.”

  
My head snapped up. No, not when I'm this close to going home. I looked at the screen, intent on absorbing as much of the information as I could, “the Chicago police department released an official statement; suspect was last seen with a white male, not yet identified, and should be considered armed and dangerous. Citizens are encouraged not to approach the suspect, and to call 911 or report sightings on the MyCTos App.” My chest tightened, the world started to spin again.

I stood abruptly when I saw a clip of me walking away from Henry, leaving the alley, and then merging in with the crowd while glancing backwards. Hell, even I thought I had looked guilty. It struck me as odd that they had video of me in the Alley and then leaving the Alley, but not the men in the grey suits. How could the camera’s have not caught that? It felt intentional, but I didn’t want to put all of my eggs in that basket yet; I wasn’t ready to be a conspiracy theorist yet.  
  
I looked away from the screens and did a causal lap around the terminal, trying to determine if my cover was blown. There was no stir, no disruption in the routine of boarding flights that I noticed. I was safe.  
As I rushed by the security check-point I had passed through earlier, I noticed an animated southern Belle Barbie on the other side of the metal-detector, frantically pointing me out to two officers. I looked over to the screens, still displaying my picture on the upper left. One screen fell out of sync, turned to grey static, "you better run," displayed in white bold lettering. I stiffened, was it talking to me?

One by one, each screen blacked out and read "run!" I looked around to see if anyone else had noticed and then back at the police officers passing through the check point, clearly staring me down. I took a few steps away and ran down the hall, passing small stores, lots of blurred faces, and narrow restaurants along the way. Up ahead, a board turned from its bright blue to static black "go left, gate 25."  
  
My feet stopped dead in their tracks and I looked around for another option. I turned my head back; the two officers were easily gaining ground, "Hold it right there." One put an arm out, as if he'd use the force to hold me in place. I booked it, running left and skimming gate signs for 25.

  
Every footfall against the white tiles sent a jolt of pressure to my wounds, effectively slowing me down and nearly tripping me up. When I'd spotted it, gate 25, I bolted past the small desk, down the opened tarmac and paused at the gaping doorway that led out to a 12 foot drop to freedom. It wasn’t high enough to kill me, but high enough to make me reconsider this option. I was historically a poor judge of height, but even I knew this would hurt like hell. I took a step back, closed my eyes—my nerve unwinding, and listened to the echo of my pursuers' feet slamming against the tarmac floor. “End of the line, hold it right there.”

  
I jumped.


	5. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Please note the sarcasm)
> 
> Kate's travel plans change.
> 
> Kate experiences stranger danger
> 
> Aiden takes Kate on a romantic evening tour
> 
> Kate meets Aiden's friend
> 
> Aiden and Jordi take up art in the style of Jackson Pollack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edited on the phone, all my italics are gone, I'll have to play around with that later.

Initially I had hit the ground feet first and felt like a badass for sticking the landing. Immediately after, a sharp sensation traveled up my shins and I spilt over onto my hands and knees; I felt like a dumbass. Aside from the shock of landing hard, all I walked away with were a few scrapes and debris embedded in my palms. Since earlier, when I'd gone inside, it'd gotten considerably dark out. The air was cold and wet with a light drizzle that had put a sheen on the untouched pavement. Catching the orange from the lights around the terminal, it looked very Kinkade-esque.

“Suspect’s on the ground, gate 25.” A deep voice called out above me. Startled, I looked up; two faces peeked out overhead, flashlights shining down. Right, in the triumph of landing I’d forgotten that the very people I wanted to go to, were chasing me. I stepped further under the bridge, out of sight.

Running was already a hard task because of the injury that seemed to never heal, and though I’m sure Aiden was well versed in patching up bullet holes—no bandage was going to protect it from the impact of running. It felt surreal. Never would I have imagined I’d be running from the cops. In school, when I was younger, for show-and-tell, I'd share my hopes of being vegan and a famous zoologist. I imagined a little Aiden bringing a gun to class, possibly shooting his peers—this outlaw thing was his gig, not mine. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I ran from the police on a whim because the television said so. I'd been straight-laced my whole life, but was positive that running from the cops was a crime, and thus, now, made me a criminal. It felt like a mistake. A misunderstanding. Maybe I could explain that the T.V.s told me to do it?

“Central gave the go ahead for non-lethal force,” enthusiastically, “You got a shot?”

  
“Where’s ground team?” The voice sounded frustrated.

  
I took a few more steps back under the mouth of the PBD to avoid whatever non-lethal force they were plotting, my eyes scanning around for the “ground force.” Perhaps they wouldn’t understand the "T.V.s talking to me" approach, they were putting a lot of resources into catching me for that to go over well.

  
Unable to run anymore, I had taken to walking quickly, as close to the terminal walls as I could. There was no sign of any reinforcements, and the only other souls out in the rain were in bright neon vests, pushing carts of luggage. My nerves still curled tight, leaving me on edge. Startled by a fire door that popped open and swung outward, made a small yip and froze. When no one came out, I'd remembered the door unlocking itself in the hospital and had to wonder if I was stuck in a Groundhog Day scenario.

Sirens blared out in the distance and steered me out of memory lane. The only thing I'd done wrong was take a wrong turn, everything else I blamed on Aiden. "Fucking Aiden." I said under my breath as I entered the doorway and glared at an overhead camera. This had to be him, the TVs, the door—I wasn't sure how he did it, any of it—it was probably safer to not know.

I closed the heavy door and put my back against it. The hall was pitch black, save for small LEDs I could see flashing on the wall. Fear washed over me, the pit in my stomach dreaded playing the rest of this out, but what other option did I have? I was stuck in a city I was unfamiliar with, my friends were back home, my family was likely unreliable, and the only person that could get me out of this packed up and left me to get myself out of it.

"What now?" I asked aloud, my voice more shaken than I intended. I walked forward, my hand dragging across the porous concrete of the wall. I couldn't see where to go. It felt cramped, too warm in the dark.

  
Far away, a light on the ceiling lit-up, revealing that I was in a long hall. I briefly scanned the signs and doors for anything useful, trying to memorize everything the light revealed; a few closets on the right of the hall, three colored lines stretched down over the black and white checkered floor, nothing useful. Trained on the end of the hall, which bended to the right beyond my eye-line, I waited to see what or who would round the corner . Maybe the police? In a bizarre way, I’d hoped Aiden would rush in like he did before and get me out of this mess. But no one came. The light flickered and faded off. Then, even farther down the hall, another light powered on. I watched, puzzled--unsure what to make of it.

From directly overhead, the light flashed on and I shielded my face as I looked out into the dark, unable to see. The next light lit up and the one over my head shut off. I hesitantly stepped under the next light, fear of being in the dark leading me to act irrationally. Once I had reached it, it too shut off. “Oh,” I was supposed to follow them. The light at the end of the hall lit up and began to flicker impatiently.

  
The charade continued until I came upon another fire door at which point all the lights came back on. I hesitated, wrapping an arm around myself and standing a few feet in front of it. “I can’t,” I said aloud, unsure if anyone could hear me. I was fully engulfed in panic, unnerved from the dark, scared of how much trouble I was in, terrified of what was through that door. The door made a pop sound and the lights from outside illuminated the space between it and the wall. I rested a hand on the cold metal and pushed, holding my breath. It opened out to the middle of a parking lot B, facing a black L with a circle around it, “The train? Not again.”

"Stop right there!" The voice was firm, coming from the right of me, somewhere along the gray concrete building.

Startled, I took a step back, debating closing the door and trying another exit. I was the idiot who followed a few spazzing lights, this was definitely my own fault. My heart sank with the realization that, maybe, if I stopped running now I could stop racking up charges. I turned to face the officer.

“Put your hands over your head.” He stood, braced behind his gun, his dark blue uniform covered over with a black vest.

I looked down at my arm in a sling and raised my other arm, he’d have to settle for this.

“Both hands!” He yelled out. He held his ground.

“I can’t,” I yelled back, fighting back any emotion that threatened to spill out after I opened my mouth. Here I was, again, alone, confronted with a brand new situation and another gun.

He turned his head and spoke aloud, “Suspect is at the east end, refusing to comply. I need back-up.”

“You do not need back up!” I responded, “I can’t move my-”

Another officer stepped around and stood beside him, “On your knees.”

I slowly got down on my knees, the damp cement pressing into them. The tall cop that had ordered me down, holstered his gun and walked towards me, working the cuffs off his belt. Time seemed to slow, my heart pounded loudly in my ears, and my sight came out of focus. I shouldn't have run, I knew I shouldn’t have run. He yanked me up, grabbed my right arm and bent it behind me, slapping a cuff on it. "Ow," I was curt. He grabbed my other arm, pulled it out of the sling. We both yelled out at the same time; I from having my left shoulder moved by the officer, and him?

I spun around to face him only to find the officer balled up on the ground, pulling at his ear. The rest of them, a lot closer than I’d remembered, had all followed suit; grabbing at their heads and doubling over. I arched a brow and mumbled, "Do I just do this last cuff myself?"

The ground began to shake and I looked back as a train approached. The timing was amazing and induced a short rush of adrenaline--the need to get away from here was strong . I looked back at the officers, "No!" I scolded myself. I wasn't running to the train, I wasn’t running at all.

  
"You fucking bitch," an officer cried out, getting onto his feet only to go back down.

"This-this isn't me." It likely fell onto deaf ears, "Fuck."

Hesitant to go and scared to stay, I ran for the train, with every stride, my breath formed small clouds into the cool air. I held a hand out, anticipating grabbing the railing on the platform and swung myself around the turn, ran around the gate and into a couple that had been trying to disembark. I turned to say “sorry”, their faces outraged as they turned to see the asshole that just pushed passed them. They continued forward and disappeared around the tall railing.

The platform was empty; passengers had already done the exchange of coming and going and that left me alone walking down the yellow line, looking to bother the least amount of people with my oncoming entourage of boys in blue. Passing cars with 14-30 people, I gave pause when I’d reached the last door and only one person stood, hand holding the bar over head by the door. I stepped in and faced the direction I was sure the police would come from, and they didn’t disappoint. Four officers stepped onto the platform in formation, signaling and spreading out. "Shit." The train dinged and the automated PA announced “Stand by for departure” followed by a spiel about sitting, holding onto the rail and emergency exits. They regrouped and filtered down the line, one car away from my own. I put my hand up, steel cuffs dangling from the wrist. I definitely earned the trip to jail by this point.

The four approached the door, guns with squared muzzles drawn, "Don't fucking move."

Another cop I hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting had his head to his shoulder and mumbled into a radio, eyes never leaving me, "We got her, south bound train. Shut it down,” and then the door snapped closed. The officers looked confused, I'm sure I had too. The cop on the radio yelled, “Shut the fucking train down.”

The train rumbled, as if conflicted, and took off rather suddenly. The jolt from a dead stop sent me sideways and off-balance. I braced for the ground but fell against something. Straightening myself up, something had been someone.

"Sorry," I was out of breath. Embarrassed and exhausted, I plopped on a plastic seat and antisocially leaned my head against a vertical pole.

  
The only other soul in the car knelt down in front of me, grabbing the pole my head was on and tilted his chin up to meet my eyes. His hair was pale blond, shaved on the sides and the top slicked back, eyes dark gray. He almost looked boyish if not for the five o’clock shadow, "Do you know how order is restored?" He put a hand over his mouth after he asked, as if holding in a laugh.

  
“By Default?” I responded automatically. It caught me off guard and the more I tried to think about it, the more I questioned if I had actually said anything.

He took the hand off his mouth, grinning behind it, and placed it over my own that clasped the pole. “This is unexpected.”

“What?” I looked at his hand over my own, questioning if I’d made the wrong choice getting on the train.

He let go, and rolled off his knees on to his feet, remaining crouched, “You’re pretty cute, you know that?” He got up before I could react and made his way to the other side of the car.

I peered over at him, his back leaned against the door to the next car, looking in my direction. He had caught me and gave a small wave, my brilliant response was to avert my eyes to the ground. Drawing in a breath, feeling like I hadn’t breathed for the last few hours, I tried to figure out my next move. Another glance up, the other passenger’s attention was on his phone. Good. He'd been oddly unphased by the police, and had just been odd in general. It made me feel uneasy.

The train shortly came to a screeching halt--though not at a station. The automated voice announced the train was having difficulty and to remain seated. I did so until the doors opened and dinged. I looked up, not hiding it, at the only other passenger, his arms folded over his chest, an eyebrow raised. The doors now dinged again, almost every second, progressively getting closer and closer together.

  
A steep hop out of the train and into the night once more made me realize how tired I’d been. The mist had turned to heavy rain that was so cold I had wondered why it wasn’t snow. The wind whipped in waves along the ground, blowing the rain sideways off and on. No longer dry, I had made my way over the tracks and passed through a chain link fence with a 4 foot hole in it. I crossed the empty street to a green space with benches and lights.

  
“Why here?” I parked myself on the closest bench and huddled against the back of it. My phone vibrated, an unknown number displayed in the white glow from my soggy palm. I declined the call and tucked the phone against my chest, hoping it’d withstand the rain.

  
From behind me, a hand brushed my shoulder. I turned quickly, half expecting the cops, but jumped up when I realized it was Aiden. The rain beat against the back of him, dripping off the brim of his hat.

  
"How did you-" I was cut off by the harshness in which he pulled me away from the bench.

  
"Wait!" He put a hand on either shoulder and shoved me forward.

"Shut it and walk." He stayed close behind me, my back hit his chest with every misstep.

  
"Aiden," I tried to stop but he continued to push me forward, "just wait!" I turned to face him, putting a hand on him to keep him back. It was meant to be obstinate, but it felt quite the opposite. Heat crept over my skin despite the cold.

My eyes met his and he had made a face. He saw it. It was obvious he saw it. "You're going to bring the police down on us if you keep talking and don’t move."

"They won't look-" he put a hand over my mouth and opted for towing me backwards by my face.

"CTos can hear you." He spoke loudly over the rain, his anger evident.

I tried mumbling something unpleasant but it was muffled under his hand. I went along with him across the park and to a black car parked on the side of the road. He opened the passenger door and I got in.

Any relief I’d felt died when I met his eyes after he sat down and slammed his door. He was seething, quiet, with his attention turned to me.

  
The silence was uncomfortable,“I’m sorr-”

  
He grabbed the collar of my shirt and shoved my back into the door, "Save it. Who are you working for?"

  
I put my hands up, shocked, "What?"

  
"I don’t have time to fuck around with you! Answer the question."

  
"Whoa, I'm not!" Getting in the car was a bad idea, “What are you talking about?”

  
"You're working for someone with CTos access! You don’t just buy that shit off the app store. Who is it?" He slammed his other hand into the dash and I jumped, "Start talking."

  
"CTos, what?" I didn’t like this side of Aiden. I didn’t know what I did to get it, “Why do you-- What the fuck is going on?”

  
"The file you used on my phone," he grabbed the front of my neck, squeezing enough that I could almost not breathe, "Blume? the club? Bratvas? DedSec?"

I opened palmed him in the face, bright red trailed down in a thin line. He let go of me and put a hand up to his lip, looked at it and then back at me. His face grew rigid, “Okay, that was a mistake, I didn’t mean to, but you-!” His response was quick, quick enough that I couldn’t anticipate it, in the form of a fist to my solar plexus. The air left my lungs and I gasped unable to inhale, talk, cry. I collapsed sideways against the back of the seat, my hands clasped to my chest. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, eyes never leaving me.

  
“That will never. happen. again.” He sat with his back leaned up against the door, mirroring me, arms folded, his right hand resting on what I assumed was the grip of his gun.

“I-” it had taken a few minutes, but I could finally breathe, “I didn’t-”

  
His eyes remained cold, unmoved. "There’s been too many coincidences-"

  
"What? You took my car, you came to me," I strained to yell, to sound as angry as I could, as angry as I had felt. "You’re not the victim in this you fucking asshole."

I reached around myself for the door handle and pulled it open. I leaned back, the rain splashing against my face and tried to wiggle my way out onto the ground. Aiden lunged forward, grabbing the loose sling around my neck and yanked hard, pulling me inside. Reaching past me, he slammed the door shut and pushed me back into it. The locks thudded.

  
“I’m not done with you,” He grabbed the gun from under his coat, cocked it and pressed it in my cheek below my eye, “Let’s try this again, who are you working for?”

  
“Fuck,” I pushed my face against the barrel, “just do it already,”

  
“Give me a name.”

  
“Why save me from the cops if you’re gonna kill me?” My voice trembled, my resolve wavered.

“I didn’t save you from the police,” his voice was gravelly, but his eyes eased their intensity. He uncocked the gun and tucked it back into his waist. "This isn’t working.” He signed, “The police at the airport, the train-" he motioned his head to the nearby tracks, “it’s all over the news,” he leaned in, a hand on the center console, “you’re telling me you have no idea who did that?”

  
"You did..." It sounded more like a question than an answer.

  
"I what?" He laughed incredulously and sat up.

  
"’You better run’" I rolled my eyes up, trying to recall the night, "the lights, the fire door?"

  
"I didn't know you were in trouble until I saw you on the news, maybe twenty minutes ago," He leaned back, turning right in his seat.

  
"I didn't know I was in trouble until I saw myself on the news." I breathed a shaky sigh of relief. I couldn’t tell if he believed me, but knew he wouldn’t kill me. Yet.

  
"Who’d go out of their way," the car started and he grew quiet, "unless someone wants to keep you accessible."

  
"Accessible?" I sat squarely in the seat, my hand resting on the handle.

  
"Yeah, not in prison. Easy to get to." He seemed a lot calmer, relieved by his own logic. It was astonishing how quickly he’d gone from homicidal to composed.

"Why couldn't someone have saved me because I am innocent?"

  
"Because that's my M.O. and I didn't save you."  
  
______________________________

We headed away from the park shortly after, drove through the city and along the piers. I had not seen the lake since arriving, but I would have mistaken it for the ocean if I didn’t know better. Beyond the immediate coast, catching the waves in glimpses of light from the street, it faded from grey to black. It was ominous.

The subtle sound of vibrating had caught my attention followed by Aiden fiddling with his phone and answered, “Hey, I don’t suppose we can postpone for an hour, I’ve got a...situation,” He was quiet for a moment, a faint voice on the other side, inaudible, filled in the quiet. "It’s complicated," Another bout of silence on his part, "More like quid pro quo," He glanced at me and his expression unreadable, taking the phone from his face, "It's hard to explain."

Aiden abruptly pulled over, stopped the car along a gate on the shoulder of the road and stepped out into the pounding rain. Whatever he had to say, he clearly didn’t want me hearing it; that made me nervous. I’d taken to watching him pace in the headlights of the car, moving his free hand as he discussed whatever it was criminals discuss, blurred through the rivers on the glass. Pocketing the phone, he looked at me through the windshield, walked to my door and opened it, “We gotta move.”

He’d had a conversation, which I assumed involved me, thus I had been slow to get out, but I did so on my own. My cooperation didn’t phase Aiden as he chose to grab me by my arm and lead me through an eerily dark yard of stacked shipping containers, “What are we doing here?” His only response was to tighten his grip on me.

We arrived at an orange container in the midst of what felt like a dilapidated maze; two stacked above, and a stack to the immediate left, just as tall. He leaned over, grabbed a handle towards the bottom that moved two parallel bars. The door bellowed out into the whipping wind as he pulled it open. Now looking at me, “Get in.”

I wasn’t sure if Aiden and I lived on the same planet; he led me into a shipping yard at night during a storm after he threatened my life and in a very straightforward way—punched me. I was not going into the container. I took a step back and motioned to run. “Somebody, help me!” I began to yell until the holy union of his palm and my mouth were reunited. He pulled me inside, my heels dragging through the gravel, and gave me a light push onto the floor. I got myself up and made my way towards the other end, as far away from Aiden as I could get in the narrow space. He closed the door, leaving only the sound of tiny taps hitting the roof to be heard. A light, suspended from the ceiling clicked on from a pull chain.

"That was a stupid move," He closed the gap between us, backing me into the wall, "you’re going to end up dead."

  
“Dead?” I tried to push him back, but he didn’t budge, “They’re blaming me for all the bad shit you did. They think I killed people. And you, you keep trying to kill me. I am going to end up dead.”

"No one thinks you killed anyone.” he straightened the sling around my neck, opening the pocket for me to put my arm back in, “Well, no-one important anyway, and I’m not actually going to kill you. I think.”

I chose to ignore that last part, “Look, I don’t know what we’re doing here, it can't be anything good. Can’t I just,” I pointed to the door.

He put his hand on the wall beside my head, “I can’t let you do that.”

“It was stupid to try to go home, I get it. I’ll avoid the airport. I’ll won’t bother you anymore.”

"I don’t think you comprehend the situation your in." He put his other hand on the wall, divvying his weight, “The camera feed was obviously spliced, if someone wants you locked away, it’s to get to you and that’s Blume,” He pushed off of his wrists and stepped away, undoing the tab of his drenched coat, “But if someone else is hacking CTos to keep you out,” He slid the sopping wet coat down his arms and dropped it on the ground with a 'thunk'. He unzipped the gray sweater, looking pleasantly ordinary in a white t-shirt, and held the sweatshirt open. I looked at him questioningly, unsure what was going down at the moment, “Come on.”

“I’m not putting that on.” If I could have pressed further into the cold metal, I would have--instead, I had to settle for dropping my eyes and looking away.

“Right, turn around,” I froze. When I had said I wasn’t putting it on, I wondered if it was lost that I didn’t want him putting it on, either or if he just plainly ignored me.

“You’re soaked, you keep it.” I motioned to him, water dripped from his pants onto the steel floor.

“You’re soaked...and cold.” He turned his head slightly when he’d said the second part, as if to not look at me, “You need it more than me.”

It took me a second, but when I looked down, the wet shirt’s black and red pattern did nothing to hide that I’d been “cold”. My head shot up, and I ripped the sweater from his arm. “What’s wrong with you?!”

“Thought so.” He picked his coat up and slid it back on, meanwhile I put my right arm through the sleeve and slid the left in gingerly. Aiden, who was atypically attentive and typically quiet, zipped the sweater up, the neck tall enough to cover my chin, and worked the sling around the neck. It was huge and heavy on me and surprisingly dry, save for the neck. It smelled faintly of leather, likely from the coat, and what I assumed was Aiden and after shave. “Now that that’s out of the way, tell me what was on it.”

  
"On it?"

"The program, the digital trip." He leaned his back against the wall next to me, craning his neck.

  
It was this again. It continued to come up and I continued to not have an answer. If I don’t have an answer, what would happen to me? Is this why we were here, in the middle of nowhere? "Are you going to kill me?" I struggled to break eye contact, but it wasn't happening.

  
"Do I need to?" He straightened up and the height difference felt drastic. Suddenly, the cramped space felt crowded, too warm.

How was I supposed to answer that? 'No' felt like the obvious answer, but what would I say in my defense? What's a good reason not to kill me? He threatened it enough to the point I’d broke and acted like I didn’t care. But I did care. I didn’t want to die.

I heard the metallic clink of the cuff hit the wall behind me. I didn't look down, but I had an idea—it was a terrible idea with no plan attached to it, other than to buy me time. I brought my left hand out of the sling, followed by my right. I clasped the cuff around his wrist and watched as he stared at it, confused.

  
An awkward moment of silence passed and he looked back to me, "Is that your answer?"

  
"Huh?"

  
"You think I won't kill you if you're cuffed to me?" He grabbed my left wrist with his right and leaned close to me, "you're trying my patience." I averted my eyes, trying to even out my breaths and not appear scared.

“I don’t want to die” my voice was brittle. I tried to push myself back further, but there was nowhere to go. Panic flooded through me.

  
He put his hands up, as to say 'calm down', “I can get them off, just-”

A heavy bang against the door disrupted whatever potentially human thing was about to come out of Aiden’s mouth.  
  
"You order a large pepperoni?" It was muffled, but there was enough sarcasm to penetrate the massive door.

  
Aiden looked up, "Great" he sneered, "this should be fun to explain." He pulled me over and opened the door with his right hand, forcing me behind him with his left. A man stepped through, almost as tall as Aiden, Asian with dark layered hair and straight bangs. He donned a gray suit, red button up, and brown shoes.

  
“Long time no see, Pearce” He strutted in past Aiden, turned around and then froze, “I must have missed the memo on bring your pet to work day,” pointing at me and clearly perturbed, “What the fuck is that?”

"She's the complication."

  
  
"She's right there, what do you need me for? Kill her. Uncomplicate it." The lines on his forehead deepened and he grabbed my wrist, inspecting it, “Is she gonna be running point?”

Aiden jerked his hand away, pulling my own with it, "I don't want her dead, I need you to stash her some place for a few days."

"Oh, no no no. Not another one. Maurice was excruciatingly pathetic. I'm not good with pets. They always die."

"I took care of the sisters for you and DeadHax," he looked at me and then back at the man with black hair dripping water on the floor, “you owe me. Just keep her alive and out of sight.”

“I've got the 'keep alive and out of sight' part down. It's the crying and the begging. Then they get brave and try to make a break for it, you rough’em up a little and suddenly you’re the bad guy.” He leaned close to Aiden, directing his back to me and feigning a whisper, “You pop her now, all of your problems are solved." He was very matter of fact about it and I worried this was making sense.

"All your problems. If you can't handle it,"

He sighed, "Fine, fine," dryly, "I'll do it. After we Jackson Pollock a few guys, she comes with me." He looked around and waved a hand in the air and then at me, "I do work for money."

"Yes, you do." There was a dig in Aiden's words. I didn't know their history, but it sounded like there was an underlying issue.

While my life was being idly discussed like I wasn’t in the room, a moment of Deja Vu washed over me, I knew the tall Asian man in the fancy suit, "I’m not going anywhere with that homicidal fuck,” I looked at him, “ no offense.”

"None taken, but don’t confuse me with Pearce , I’ll snap that neck of yours like a glowstick if you pull any of this rebellious shit with me,” he closed an eye and lined his thumb and forefinger with my neck, then sucked his teeth as he motioned to snap my neck, “I look forward to “hanging out”." He made air quotes.

“That’s enough,” Aiden moved his left arm behind him, effectively pulling me back, “We’ll sort out the details later, what’s the deal with Rondentia?”

“I am glad you asked, Pearce: our friends have been busy running around town, poking their noses in everyone’s shit, setting up a little network to ping all over the place, ping ping ping” He flicked his fingers in the air for effect and walked over to the open door, looking out at the rain, “There’s no sign of the Rat, it’s just a bunch of copycats pissed at the world.”

  
“So why are the Viceroys here, they’re not exactly keen on playing nice.”

  
“Get this, they are working together.” He seemed amused, “Yeah, yeah, and what’s left of the club, headed by Quinn’s grandson, also cooperating. It’s just a big family of burly misfits hugging each other and singing kumbaya.”

“Well, don’t leave me in suspense,” it was dry.?”

He faced Aiden, arms crossed, “They’re looking for you and,” he motioned to me, “fifty shades of gray over there.” I put my head down, it was cruder than I anticipated. “Not just them, either. They already reached out to see if I knew where to find you,” he pointed to the back of his hand, his knuckles split, recently, “You wanna fill me in on why Barney and friends are putting so much time into finding you?”

“Not really,” Aiden casually turned around and the sound of metal teeth clicking against itself gave me pause. I’d been so wrapped up in the conversation, I didn’t notice him working off his cuff.

Now, I was attached to a pole that spanned the back of the container, “Hey!”

“Stay put,” as if I had a choice. He turned to his counterpart, “Let’s talk outside.”

“You pay me, I’ll talk wherever you want.” They disappeared out the open door.

I stood, my eyes looking out into the dark, considering how fucked I’d be if he didn’t return. I didn’t know anything about picking locks, and he’d done it behind his back. Considering the alternative, maybe I’d prefer dying here.

Aiden came back, his coat a darker brown and soaked, his footsteps heavy. “Here’s the deal; I have to take care of something, when we come back, we’ll be parting ways.”

My eyes widened, “You can’t leave me with Jordi, he’s crazy.”

  
Aiden’s look tensed, “This would be the second time you’ve done that.”

  
“Done what?” Caught off guard.

  
“Jordi… you know who he is, his name...You realize this looks bad for you.”

  
“You said it before,” I tried to think back to when he’d used it. Was it the phone, or-

  
“I didn’t. I specifically didn’t use his name around you.”

  
“You must have-” Aiden held up a finger and closed his eyes, he didn’t want to hear it.

  
“We’ll revisit this later, keep quiet while we're gone.”

"Wait!” It sounded tremulous. I was remembering bits and pieces of Jordi, mostly words. I closed my eyes, forgetting Aiden for the moment and then it came out, “Please, not him. Why him?”

  
Aiden looked unsettled, like he wanted to say something else, but he was pressed for time, "He's the best at what he does,"

  
I pulled against the cuff, "He's a hitman. A murderer. He's dangerous, Aiden” I paused, looking within myself for a better reason. “Why him?” I asked again, not convinced I’d be long for this world.

  
"Because he's going to be keeping you safe, better than I can." His tone made me feel like a child being scolded by a parent.

  
"You mean tied to a chair in a basement?"

"Difference?" Amusement dipped back into his tone. He left, closing the large door behind him.

  
__________________________

I ended up sitting on the hard floor tucked in the corner, the arm cuffed above my head had gone numb, but I felt safer making myself as small as possible. The overhead light was the only company I had and it reminded me of Henry, my last little inanimate counterpart; I wondered how he was. I wondered how I was.

A loud thud against the side of the container broke the silence I’d been in for almost an hour, the dangling light swayed back and forth. My ears pricked up, my eyes watching the wall. An odd sound echoed and smacked something nearby. Were those bullets? Rapid thuds against my container and in the vicinity progressed and then what sounded like an explosion followed. Quiet fell around me again.

The metal bar on the inside began to move, scraping against the mechanism that housed the latch. I sunk into the warmth of the oversized sweater as much as I could, trying to fade away. The door echoed, opened, and Aiden and Jordi filtered in, closed the door, and waited with guns in hand. A few tense moments, backs straight and eyes waiting, followed by them uncocking their weapons and letting out a breath.

“What was all that?” I asked out from my tiny corner.

Jordi came over and stood above me, “Let me show you,”

  
“That’s enough.” Aiden spoke lowly, his voice sharp, “You take her, I’ll go clean up.”

  
“I’m still not going,” I grabbed the bar I was cuffed to.

  
“For fucks sake Pearce, invest in some duct tape. I’m getting a headache,” Aiden looked unmoved, almost annoyed, “my suit’s ruined, I can’t do the whining.”

“Give me a second, we’ll meet you by the road.” Jordi left, not quietly, and all that remained was Aiden, myself, and the light. He turned back to me, now tinkering with the cuff digging into my wrist. “I don’t know what the hell’s going on with you, but believe me when I say it’s best to keep your commentary to yourself, do you understand?”

  
“Why do I-”

  
“Do. you. understand?”

  
“Yeah,” The cuff opened and fell away from my wrist, smacking against the wall, “Can’t I stay with you?” He headed towards to opening, “I’ll keep out of the way.”

  
“I’m not sending you with Jordi as a punishment,” he motioned for me to walk, “You’re not the only one who has to watch their back. I have to follow a lead and I can’t if every time I turn around you’re up shits-creek.” I stood beside him and he put a hand on my back, guiding me out. There was no way I was getting out of going with Jordi, this much I knew, but he was being uncharacteristically nice about it. I’d forgotten in all the chaos that Aiden was supposedly in the same predicament that I’d been in, only...he was better equipped to handle it.

  
"So why don't you let Jordi babysit you?" I couldn't help but smile at my own suggestion.

  
"Because I can't type with my hands tied to a chair." He smirked as we walked out into the rain, my own quickly faded upon confirmation that things were going to suck.


	6. From Bad to Worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jordi explains life to Kate  
> Kate enjoys the local night life  
> Jay is an expert problem solver  
> Kate goes through a few shirts  
> Aiden is Aiden  
> Also, let me add, I'm not the best at writing erotica so when you get to that part...you'll just have to accept it for what it is. It sucks, I know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I can't find it, but somewhere in here there is a glaringly obvious place I started to change something and I can't find it. If you read this chapter and find it, please indicate where it is in the comments.
> 
> Tried the whole spell check thing, here we go.

We approached a white SeVanti Cruz that idled on the side of the road, it’s headlights illuminating a “NO TRESPASSING” sign on the chain-link fence we passed. Aiden had taken to walking a few steps behind me, remaining stoic when I’d turn to see if he was still there. Whatever version of him I’d witnessed a few minutes ago was gone, and aside from the occasional hand to steer me in the right direction as I navigated the dark, we’d had no interaction.

"Aiden?"

He walked along the right side of the car and opened the door while I chose to stand my ground; inwardly debating if going was in my best interest. I’d heard Jordi complain about the water getting in his car, “It’s Italian Leather,” but Aiden chose to do nothing, to say nothing. My feet dragged through a puddle as I practically stomped over; standing between door and the interior, my eyes squinting as drops splashed on my face, “This feels like a bad idea.”

The red leather had been cold to sit on, the AC on full blast likely had a hand in that. The door closed and my head swung over to Jordi who was fussing over the sleeves of his red shirt, the jacket he had donned earlier was nowhere to be seen. Back out the window, Aiden stood, unmoved. My attention slid from him to the door lock--which was not locked, and then in front where a rectangular divot in the dash held a gun laid for all to see, much the place you'd expect a bobble-head. My eyes flickered back to Jordi, alarm spiked through me when not only was he done fidgeting with his clothes, but he had an arm over the top of my seat, his face leaned in. His eyes slowly shifted over to the dash and my own followed.

"You noticed that, huh?” pragmatically, “That’s because I don't plan on running after anyone." He started the car and I watched Aiden in the side-view mirror become smaller and nothing.

There was a huge difference between calm and quiet, I’d found quite by accident. Calm was a peaceful feeling of serenity and safety while quiet was quite literally the absence of noise. The car was quiet. I sat there, an arm around myself and kept my eyes fixed on the windshield, not seeing further than the wipers. My mind went everywhere I couldn't—I'd wondered if my mom saw the news and what my step-father had to say about it, if some part of Josh could sense what was going on, how long it had been since I'd eaten, and briefly, Aiden without the t-shirt. It died quickly when my mind rehashed the situation I'd been in and any thought of Aiden soured. My imagination sucked.

"Look at us,” It was a stark contrast in the tension that had been building, “You do what you're supposed to do, I do what I'm supposed to do. If things stay this smooth, the next few days will be easy on you." At first, I’d mistaken it for reassurance, but it struck me as odd. His declaration was connotative; one way appeared that he'd been anticipating my lack of cooperation and was pleasantly surprised, the other focused on how he'd said the next few days would ‘be easy’ on me if things went this smoothly. He’d very carefully left an underlying threat that if something were to happen, if there were any bumps.

Propping my head up with my hand, I leaned on the window, and gathered myself. The more I recalled of Jordi the more I recognized the need for a plan. Task one was to figure out where we were going. From what I’d been able to tell, we were heading back to the city; the sky disappearing into towering buildings was an obvious sign, but it had been preceded by stop-and-go traffic. Jordi had been content to drum his hands on the steering wheel and ramble on. I was half sure the intent was not to engage me in conversation, but rather to hear himself talk; once I was sure my participation wasn’t crucial, I tuned him out.

"...and that's when it occurred to me to just shoot once, move the body to a different location and then double-tap. Less mess." He looked over with a genuine smile.

"Ok..." I forced myself to blink, to act natural. What the fuck were you thinking, Aiden?

"It's an art, you wouldn't understand." He waved dismissively and continued, "Now, blunt objects are a completely different story--"

Traffic eventually moved and we ended up passing a highway sign for A-217 and took an off-ramp. The rest of the ride was ‘quiet’--maybe he’d gotten the vibe that regaling me with tips on how to start my own hitman incorporated wasn't well received. Though outwardly crazier than Aiden, he was by far a better driver; choosing to stay within the speed limit, the man even yielded to oncoming traffic. Maybe Aiden needed to be referred to Jordi more than I realized—he could learn something.

He parked the car along a busy street, under the elevated tracks of the L, "Stay." He pointed at me and slid on a pair of black leather gloves.

"Okay?" I watched him get out and meander around to my side. He paused before opening the door and touched the side panel of the car with a concern that morphed to disgust. The door opened and he shook his head at something in his palm, out of my eyeline.

“Fucking punks have no respect." He had tossed the offending object in my lap and stood perpendicular to the car. He was still for a moment while he looked around and then at his phone. In my lap was a small rectangular magnet for a digital art show, “Returning Artist" in bright bold letters. Someone must have stuck it to his car. Was this even his car? "Come on, come on, get out." He put a hand under my arm and expedited the process.

"Here?" It was a hostel. I'd never been in one but it’s what the sign said, so I had no reason to think otherwise. This had to be a mistake, there were windows, people, wifi.

"Did you prefer a half-flooded basement where no one can hear you scream?" with solid eye-contact. There was no need to post a special bulletin, in that moment I knew that not only did Aiden share my thoughts on where I'd be “stashed", those two assholes had a laugh about it.

The facade of the brick building was 4 stories of glass facing out onto the street. The warm glow inside leached out into the dark, lighting the stands of rain that continued to beat down. Less impressed with the scenery, Jordi held a gloved finger on a small round button by the door, impatiently pressing it over and over again until we were buzzed in. Once inside, Jordi had leaned in to whisper to an older gentleman who had been half asleep behind the desk, his head shooting up within the second Jordi spoke. The balding middle-aged man had growled “We're even,” to which Jordi responded in a purr, “You kidding? You’re mine for life.” No argument followed, though when Jordi turned his back, the man gave him a one fingered salute.

A few stairs later, we were on the top floor, down a hall, and in a room with one bunk bed pushed to the wall. The bottom bunk was a full-size mattress and the top bunk was...well...small. Besides being unimpressively narrow, the only notable feature would have been the large window opposite the door, which Jordi went to immediately. He parted the blinds to look out but stayed fixed in the position, still, unmoving. I kept my back to the door pondering what I should do and slowly moved near the window beside him, curious as to what was so interesting.

Before I could peer out he turned, "This is home for you," and motioned to the room in its entirety, "now, give me the phone.” He held his hand out, snapping his fingers and opening the palm. I considered playing dumb, but the conviction he had had made it likely it was a stipulation Aiden had required.

Hesitantly, I touched the phone in my pocket; it was the only connection I had to the world and I wasn't in a hurry to completely strand myself. I placed it gently in his open hand and he proceeded to carelessly pry the back off, pop the battery, and swap out the SIM that I’d replaced less than 24 hours ago. Sighing as if severely inconvenienced, he reassembled it and tossed it on the bed. “Cards?” I obediently fished the cards out of my pant’s pocket and slapped them down against the glove, “Watch it.” He pocketed the cards. “Hands on the wall.”

“What?” This was getting out of hand. He turned me around roughly and pushed my chest to the wall. A quick pat down later he was off inspecting the mattress, lifting up the corners. I grabbed the phone off the bed, powering it up.

"Don't get any cute ideas, it can’t call. No texts. No wifi. No data." He moved around me and partially lifted the corner closest to me.

“Then what’s the point?”

“Aiden’s game, Aiden’s rules.” He opened the door and stepped out. This didn’t feel right.

"Wait, are you leaving me here?"

"Look, it's really cozy, but," he put a hand on the knob, "I’ll be popping in later. If you're good, I'll even bring you food,” I couldn't see my face, but I imagined I looked all sorts of uneasy, “Relax. No-one knows you're here. Safe and sound."

"Yeah, but—I could-"

"You could,” aggravation rolling in, “but that'd be stupid,” he crossed the threshold, “You’re lucky Aiden’s paying to keep you safe--not captive. My last babysitting gig was a grown man missing half his fingers, pissing his pants and crying,” he made a calm face, then his eyes went to me, "He's dead.” He put a hand to the wall and traced it as he walked, “Where are you going to run? Why are you gonna run?" Return of the large hand gestures and cocky tone.

"I," point made, "I don't-"

"I'll tell you what," he circled around me and traced a hand from one shoulder, across the nape of my neck, to the other-the scent of something vanilla on him, "you're not running or contacting anyone," he ever-so-slightly pushed me forward, "You're not going outside. You're not even talking to any of the beanie boppers in this building...any building." He completed the circle and stood in front of me, I unconsciously backed into the window and he followed along. "Before the police find you, or your family, or Aiden—I'll find you," his mouth twisted into some semblance of a smile, "and I'll be upset because it's my reputation on the line, and you'll be trying to ruin that reputation.” he pushed my back against the glass pane, “And I just might-" he gestured his hand and put it near my throat "shink." He dropped his hand and watched my reaction. I closed my mouth, and tried to maintain composure

"Right." My eyes were at their widest and my chest rose and fell rapidly.

"I've got business downtown," he receded to the door again, “you stay put.”

After I confirmed that my phone served no function aside from a glorified watch, I'd taken time to reflect while I sat in my little 10x6 cell. As scary as he'd been, he was right. Why run when it felt like everyone was out to get me? Aiden was probably my best shot. My best shot at what? I didn't know. But I couldn't live paranoid like this, feeling like at any moment something horrible was going to happen and that I’d be powerless to stop it. It had led to me feeling disgusted with myself for how I'd begged Aiden to let me stay with him. The other issue I had was less clear; I seemingly recalled things that weren't my own to recall. I could tell the difference between my thoughts and these bursts of information that seemed to ebb and flow, but I couldn't stop them. Contrary to the belief that my safety lied with Aiden, his promise to discuss it later made me wonder if I had another interrogation to look forward too.

I parted the blinds when the building rumbled and watched the train whoosh by and the few people walking around on the sidewalk. I didn't know any of them. Complete strangers going about their business. They were lucky.

A sudden vibration and blue light in my hand woke me from a nap. The display of the phone read 11:29PM; over twenty four hours, maybe it couldn't be classified as a nap. Awesome. I dismissed the phone and searched the dark room. On the wall above my head, “First time I hoped someone wasn't dead. I'll be back.” I laid my head back down until the phone had another spastic episode. (2 unread messages)

(u awake?)

(Alive?)

It was an odd thing for Aiden to ask since Jordi was supposedly ‘the best at what he does’ and that was supposedly to keep me alive.

[Go get fucked] Still mad about our last interaction.

(Come out)

It raised a few flags that he'd be suggesting this after my pep-talk from Jordi, something felt off. I rolled up off the bed and parted the blinds. The city was lit up in an orange haze contrasted only by a few large digital billboards and the night. An advertisement for the recently familiar digital art-show faced my window, the same one from the magnet. Small world.

The phone vibrated again,

(Hi)

Uneasy. [Hi?]

The sign went black and then, “Come out Come out I know where you are” I did a double take and backed up from the window. The phone vibrated.

(<:8 )~~~~ )

I stepped away from the blinds abruptly and opened the door to the hall--peeking my head out. There was nothing, no-one. Locking the door, I sat back on the bed. “Definitely not Aiden.” The possibilities raced through my mind.

The phone vibrated, ,

(K. Cr33py, 1 kn0. C0m3 h4v3 fun.)

The phone hit the floor and I left it to vibrate uncontrollably while I inwardly considered leaving the room to get help. Where was Jordi? Wasn’t he supposed to check on me? I knew it wasn't Aiden--no part of my imagination could warp it that way.

(T4x1 or Lyft?)

(CTos c4nt c u)

That was news to me. I put aside the deer in headlights, [Since When?]

(Since I uploaded anti-facial recognition software ☺) An out of place intelligible response.

(Come have fun)

(You'll be back before daddy Aiden knows)

Caught off guard, I laughed. I had no intention of leaving, but found myself intrigued that whoever this was knew Aiden, where I was… referring to him as “daddy” was an added bonus.

[No]

(U run?)

"Huh?" I had run track, over ten years ago. What did that have to do with now? I checked my contacts, maybe Aiden had been good enough to give me a way to reach out to him.

(Want to?)

A ton of figurative bricks hit me. I raced to the window, pushed the blinds over—watching as at least 6 police cruisers pulled over across the way, officers hustling out of their vehicles to stand in the middle of the street. Though hard to see past the blue strobing lights, a lone officer ran to redirect traffic.

[What do you what?]

(1 hour, tops.)

[not happening]

(Bacons not on menu 4u)

I looked up, now closer outside, trying to determine another reason for the boys in blue. The bank across the street; its lights inside the tall windows flashed and the drop-gate rolled opened and closed. They were responding to an alarm.

(I can make this go away.) He made this mess, bargaining to contain it was hardly worth what angry Jordi would do. I'd stay put, completely uninterested as to why mystery texter was dicking around with me.

(The things in your head.) That caught my attention.

[Who are you?]

(Come find out)

[Can't] They didn't directly take credit for the block party out on the street, but it wasn't conducive to what they wanted.

(Go downstairs, front desk)

Clearly suicidal and out of my mind, I found myself in the lobby standing awkwardly in front of the same desk as last night, with the same middle aged man. Not sure what to expect, but kinda expecting someone else to be there, I put my palms on the red linoleum counter, “uhh, excuse me?” I whispered.

He mirrored me, leaning in, palms down, “Down the hall,” nodding left behind him, “go through the emergency door, cross the back, open the blue door, all the way through to the street.”

“What?” Unprepared for more than simple acknowledgement.

“Tell that asshat if he fucks this up, I'll send the shitstorm his way.” Wide eyed, I waited, “Get your ass going.”

For once, I had followed directions and ended up going out the back of the building, across a narrow service road, through a blue door that led into the back of a laundromat and out to the street—cop-free, cold, with no idea what to do next.

"Jordi’s gonna kill me." I sighed through a shiver. The phone buzzed to life,

(Ur out yay)

(Coming?)

[Where are you?]

(Lyft across the street)

The Lyft, a black Xcalaide, welcomed me into the SUV as I crossed the street.

“I don't suppose you're texting me?” I asked through the open window.

“No, but I'd like to.” He flashed a big smile. Smooth. I opened the back door and slid in.

"Do you know where I'm going?" It was worth a shot, if worse came to worse I'd look like an idiot, which I arguably was.

"Connexion." He explained with a smile.

"Connection?"

"Connexion, the new Ambrose Theatre? Hard to get into."

The phone vibrated,

(no ruining the surprise)

Even in here, they knew.

We sat down the street from a building where a long line wrapped around the corner. “Is it really this? Here?”

“Yeah, that's the place.”

“Can we go somewhere else?” This whole thing was a terrible idea, but looking at the line, it actually felt like one. There was no way this would be wrapped up in an hour.

“I'm getting paid to drop you here, sorry. I'll give you my number for later?” That wasn't nearly as helpful as he thought it was.

Anxiously, I had stepped out and crossed the street, my eyes searched the line for my secret admirer. If things would go simply, to the point, I could slip back in my room, Jordi none the wiser, and I'd keep all my fingers.

The line consisted of a repetition of girls in dresses, men in jeans and button-downs; a monotone palette of club and casual—I was hilariously under-dressed. Snapping the concern over appearance in half, I had to wonder how long I’d be in this line versus when Jordi would return. These people, switching their weight from one leg to the other, looked like they'd been there for hours, while people at the front were actively being sent away.

(Front of the line)

Somewhere, someone was watching me. Close enough to see where I looked.

I shook my head. I didn't belong here and I shouldn’t have come. This wasn’t me. Even the music faintly from inside the building didn’t sound like shit I’d listen to. How everyone dressed. Hell, the act of waiting in line was historically against my nature. My frail ego couldn't handle the risk of rejection. If I go to the front of the line, that is exactly what will happen. I’d be sent away. My phone vibrated,

(fun bhind door)

(feet use them)

[Fuck you]

A deep breath and several mumbled words of choice later, I walked over to the door where two men, only describable as beef-sticks, loomed. They were intimidating--standing higher than most people in line, shoulders broad with no business being in those suits. Trying to focus on the ground, I couldn’t help but notice I received a few glares from the line as I passed. My spine had started to turn to jelly and my legs were already there.

"Back of the line." The voice was deep, but dead. Clearly, he’d said it more than a handful of times tonight.

I nodded. "Saw that one coming." On my heel I turned, deeply embarrassed. I could feel the ghost of southern-bell-Barbie tsk-tsk me.

"This way." An unanticipated hand touched my shoulder and I jumped. The same Conan the Barbarian stunt-double that sent me away then gestured to the door, expression just as nervous as my own. Devilishly I smirked. For a moment it felt awesome. So awesome, in fact, that I turned my face to the line as I went into the double-door. I had forgotten that I was a spineless humancicle, suddenly more preoccupied knowing that whoever it was at the other end of the phone could actually back up what they said.

The double-doors slammed behind me and the small room was dark. Panic, my old friend. A light came from above, Groundhog Day round two. I contemplated if I had managed to end up in a far worse situation than Jordi. A loud sound, like a metal pipe hitting the floor echoed out and then the music from inside felt closer, still faint. Quite abruptly four doors swung out into a room crowded in a blue haze, people, and green lights; that little stunt was all for show. Fuck. I breathed a sigh of relief and cautiously walked the perimeter of the room, nearly the size of a warehouse, packed full of dancing bodies that jumped in sync with the music. Across the room, on the far wall, I had seen a face and though it had been brief, it was clearer than I could see anyone else’s. It was unexpected and I fumbled in my mind to figure out how’d I known them. My hands reached behind me and traced the wall as I side stepped, unable to see out of my peripherals. He was a local, part of Lucky Quinn’s old crew, 24 years old, dipping his hands into Quinn’s money; no one knew that. How did I know that. Charles Quinn, the grandson of the infamous “Lucky” Quinn--.

A woman’s shoulder brushed passed me, blond flowing hair tickling across my face. The break in eye-line was all I needed to stop the flood of information. Eyes averted, I continued my way around, attempting to gather myself. I was here against my better judgement in hopes of getting some answers. This had not been the time to panic as to why I’d sporadically knew some dude’s Tinder profile and bank account.

Towards the back, an oddly shaped bar curved like two parallel waves. The middle had two open shelves, mirrored and seemingly fragile, under the bartop glowed and transitioned from blue, green, and purple. I parked myself on a backless stool, traced my fingertips on the swirled resin counter and scanned the crowd.

"Rough night?" It was a man in a fitted white button up, complete with back bowtie and a rounded pair of glasses.

"What?"

"You're all," he circled a finger in my direction, “you need a drink?”

"Drink?" Maybe I was dense.

"A drink? Can I make you a drink?" He laughed.

"Oh," I was sitting at a bar, "sure."

He waited for a moment, amusement never dying down, “Yes?"

"Oh," I whacked my forehead with my hand and rolled my eyes, "I’ll have whatever. I don't care."

The sides of his mouth curled and disappeared amongst the blur of other bartenders, returning moments later with a murky blue drink, a green cloud that floated in the middle, perhaps Midori? "What is it?"

"Do you care?" Using my words against me. He leaned over, apparently something was funny because he was trying to hold a straight face.

"No, I guess I don't." He vanished when I had taken my eyes off him to inspect the nameless concoction. I’d opted to multitask, sipping while scanning the crowd over the rim and quickly found it empty. It tasted good, like melon and something sour, but it didn’t feel right that it’d be empty that fast. Better yet, most of Lucky Quinn’s lackey sank into the back of my mind.

Kneeling on the stool, I looked behind the counter and searched for the bartender who'd made it. He had piqued my curiosity; turned out I cared. I wanted to know what it was, I wanted another one. The responsible part of my brain came out of hibernation, arguing that though I was anxious and sure, a little buzz couldn’t hurt me, how was I going to pay for it? Team hitman had taken away any means I had to accessing money. As if telepathic, he casually walked by in a rush, slid another one in front of me, and was gone just as quickly. The corner of my eye caught the phone lighting up and vibrating in a circle, nearly off the counter. I tipped the drink back, picked up the phone-

(icu)

(r u cosplaying as aiden?lololol)

(wait b4 u order)

(bad idea)

( x drinks)

(Lol, xx, ur screwed)

(Moar? Lololol)

Apparently I'd missed the bombardment of texts, though my main issue wasn't so much that this person typed in alphabet soup, but that he'd mentioned Aiden again. There was undoubtedly something more to this meet and greet than what they'd said, and I'd been worried it somehow involved Aiden...and anything involving Aiden seemed to end badly for me.

"Fuck this,"overwhelmed, I slammed the cup down.

"Maybe mix it up a little?" My attention turned up to the bartender in front of me; he donned the same neatly pressed shirt, perfectly square bow-tie, but his hair was a shorter cut, dark brown and otherwise unremarkable, save the thin scar down the side of his lips. He leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed a big smile, "How bout something a little less potent?" 

I raised a brow, wondering if he'd been who I was here to meet, or if he just had a crap sense of humor, "What, like the capri-sun from your lunchbox?" I shot back, feeling a light with a buzz. 

His smile didn't dim, and the slight turn of his head and laugh had almost been cute, "You got me," he put his hands up, "you always this sarcastic or just when your on defense?"

Motioning for him to come closer, "Am I meeting you here?" I held up my phone and gave it a wave.

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair, "Nope, not me," he looked near the door, "Who're you meeting? I'll keep an eye out."

I shrugged, "No idea," a quick glance at the entrance, "this whole thing is a terrible fucking idea." Liquid courage wouldn't allow me to shake the feeling.

Grabbing a glass below the bar and wiping the rim, "The night is young, it's not too late to leave." There'd been a hint of apprehension.

The anxiety I'd shrugged off resurfaced, circling the idea of leaving now and what would happen. Whoever was on the other end of the phone all but twisted my arm to get me here, "Can't. I don't really have a choice." 

He placed the short glass on the metal ridge below the bar-top, his charming smile shifting to concern, "You _always_ have a choice." 

Highly Skeptical, "Maybe you do."

Another quick look behind himself then back, "Come on, I'll take you home." He stepped away and motioned me to follow him to the other the end of the bar.

I desperately wanted to leave, "Kay." 

From nowhere, an arm shot out in front of him, and the bartender with the glasses stepped in, exchanging a look with bartender number two that was less than friendly. He'd given me one last look and stepped back, turning his attention to a patron across the way. My eyes darted back, "Sorry bout that, new guy." With a jovial eye-roll and a quick smirk, he'd set another drink down and was off. I watched as condensation gathered on the glass, working its way down and disappearing into the cocktail napkin, playing with the idea of leaving. But where would I go? Mystery man found me while I was "hiding", and I didn't know where to find Aiden or even how to get a hold of him. He wasn't programmed into my contacts. And...even if he was, the phone was useless. 

Already at what I knew my limit to be, knowing I'd should have kept my count to zero, given my position, I sipped on the glass while I scanned the crowd on the dance floor. The moment of relief I'd felt as every face was as indiscernible as the next died down when a dull buzz broke me from the moment.

(ur glass is mt)

I looked at the cup I'd had to my lips, it was, in fact, empty. But I wasn't impressed. I already know that whoever this was could see me and the game was getting old.

I turned around in my stool and was greeted with another drink and a text;

(Ok, no moar. u r prbly gonna die)

Truer words had never been spoken, but I wasn't sure what the fuss was all about. I ran a finger over the rim of the glass.

(Intervention in 3 ... x in drink)

I tipped my head back and began to gulp as the phone indicated multiple messaged. My mouth still on the glass, my eyes turned down,

(1) (x= Molly)

The icy mouthful I had I’d spit into the almost empty glass and a hand from behind me reached around and slowly took the cup. It startled me and my eyes followed the arm back to its owner who brought the glass to his mouth and tipped it back. Disgusted, I frowned. “We have to stop meeting like this,”--the guy from the train. His hoodie was different, but the same smug smirk graced his pale face and his grey eyes mirrored his impish expression.

"What are you doing here?" There had been no way this was a coincidence. This guy? It was him all along? Question upon question began to stack in my mental queue.

"You looked like you needed saving." He placed the glass down on the counter, attention now on my favorite bartender of the night, "how about water?"

"What’s that about?" I looked up at the bartender and then past him. Another familiar face over his shoulder looked out, somewhere behind us. My mouth dropped. My head spun, and I knew them. Not this, again.

An arm wrapped around the small of my back broke me from my internal melt-down. My body felt cold, but my face felt hot. “I don't think I can keep my promise,” his mouth close to my ear, competing against the noise.

"Which one?" I squirmed out of his grip but he'd let go easily. The content didn't bode well for me.

"The one where I get you back and Aiden doesn't know you left."

That sobered me up, "I didn't leave, you--“ I tried to yell. Another familiar face over his shoulder in a dark blue baseball hat. I looked back to the other man I'd recognized by the bar, also looking at the man in the cap. I looked over to train-man, his eyes elsewhere entirely.

"We should get out of here." I could feel him apply pressure to the side of me, trying to help me off the stool. I stood and then quickly sat down.

"Aww shit." Gravity was fierce.

"Yeah?" He made no effort to hide his mirth.

"I can't afford to be fucked right now," this wasn't feeling like a typical buzz. Anchoring onto him, I steadied myself back up.

"Wouldn't worry yet," He balanced me, putting an arm behind me and leading me towards the crowd. I hesitated, planting my feet. Was there a Vice-roy reunion I wasn’t aware of, "they're early.” He began to lead me by the hang through the crowd.

With an arm over my shoulder he leaned in, his face close to mine, “Something’s wrong,” I panicked, familiar faces kept popping in and out of the crowd like Where’s Waldo gone wrong, “this place.” An overwhelming amount of memories came back to me, but they weren't mine, half of them weren't even memories.

We'd gotten to a set of winding stairs and were waved through by what I assumed to be another bouncer. The way up was dizzying and at the top of them, over the dance floor, it was just as overwhelming. A massive amount of boards, stacks, lights and computers covered a set of tiered tables facing out over the room. In front of them, a single chair on wheels and someone’s back was to us.

“Jay.” He yelled close to my ear, both our attention down to my phone.

{Where the fuck are you}

I froze, this had to be Aiden.

"Jay?" Half listening, more preoccupied with what I'd say to Aiden.

"You?" He cupped a hand to my ear.

“I'm not Jay.” My eyes still down.

“I'm Jay,” He moved behind me and pressed himself up against me, a hand touching my neck. I was very aware of him. Of everyone. I could feel every indent on his fingers glided over my neck, his breath spilling over my cheek. His anticipation pressing into my back.

“Okay?” My head shot up. Hypervigilant to the change in how I felt and what I thought.

“Your name?”

"You don't know it?" It came out breathy, doubtful.

"I do," his other hand brushed over my hip, "but,” he’d gotten closer, “sometimes I like the game."

“The game?” struggling to concentrate, “Like with the train? The texts?” Facing him, a hand on his chest, holding him at bay, “I don’t like games.”

He gave a small shrug and looked up to nowhere, “How you like the music, Kate?” The name was an odd flex, but not unique considering the last few days. 

"I don’t,” fuck his game, “it sucks.”

"Yeah, it does." Bypassing my hand, pressing himself against my thigh, a hand on my shoulder.

"Do you or don’t you know what’s going on?" I leaned in, my cheek accidentally touching his, "do you even know how to fix it?" I pointed to my head, and he nodded.

"It's premixed crap. I can fix it." His lips brushed my cheek and his hand slowly slid down to the zipper on my sweatshirt. He was an absolute pro on twisting everything I’d said. It was annoying. He casually continued to let his hand wander, dipping down the front of my pants, his warm fingers wriggling down, rubbing against the softness of my underwear, pressing into me. Suddenly against the wall, he buried his face into my neck, kissing and lightly biting and sucking on the sensitive skin. My head felt heavy.

“What are you doing?” Not sure who I had been directing it at.

“You really want me to narrate it??” close to my ear, sarcasm-laden. He moved to my mouth, sucking on my bottom lip, teasing to kiss me but nuzzling instead. Both his fingers and my underwear were wet: the fabric uncomfortably clinging to me. “Exhibitionism is kinda your thing, right?”

“What?” The tension pulled in my stomach, building as the pressure against me would cycle, pressing almost uncomfortably harder as he would stroke back and then easing. The accusation was odd and abrupt.

“You, here, in front of all these people, you're wet…” he teased, "you're not denying it,” he sucked hard onto the side of my neck. Unable to piece together any sense in what he’d said, my mind fixating on where we were, out in the open.

“We should stop,” my modesty rallied. 

He kissed me, harshly, his free hand unzipping the sweater more, pulling at my nipple, working it between his thumb and forefinger. I moaned into his mouth and he happily swallowed it. Every place he touched felt intense, like it all had been some form of sex I was just now discovering. The tension tightened; compressing the air I breathed, my skin pulling closer to my bones, until my core became so wrapped up on the few places I was being touched, unable or unwilling to exist outside of them.

“Oh god,” overwhelmed, “I don’t want to cum, not like this...” A far off voice in my brain quickly yelled that I was dumb; of course I wanted to. He retreated, stepping out of my space and crossing his arms—satisfied with how disheveled I’d become. I inched down the wall, alienated by how I felt. Upset that it had felt good and I'd done nothing to stop it. Pissed off that I wanted more.

"Why’d you stop?" Confliction gave way rather easily..

"I'm going to fix the music, wait for me, I'll help you with,” he mimicked my hand to my head from earlier.

Indifference and concern simultaneously had been an uncomfortable sensation. Time scraped by and it felt like I'd forgotten something important but once I remembered, it was gone again. Trying to hold onto my conviction, I watched Jay and the DJ switch places; Jay then donning a lite-up mask, complete with ears, reminding myself that he could help me. That he said he would.

The music changed and over an electronic beat an announcement echoed, and forced its way past all the sounds that filled the space, the voice distorted. I couldn’t hear past the screams and the vibrations of the bass. The music faded into something else and the unsteady rhythm somehow was parallel to the phone's, creating the strangest tingling in my palm.

{Jordi can't find you.}

{I can’t find you}

{By the rear exit}

I rushed forward, looking out over the balcony, staring through the hazy light over to the opposite end of the building I’d come from. Surely enough, with his back against the wall, his black hat stood out, his head looked over in this direction, though not a me.

[I can see you] It was evident even to myself in the state I was in, that I was in way over my head. My knees hit the ground first, falling back on my heels.

{Where are you?}

Before I could answer, Jay was suddenly standing over me, placing a hand on my head and bringing his thigh to my cheek. Within the span of a second, I’d forgotten Aiden and rubbed up against his leg--reveling in the sensation of hard denim on my skin. The soft sound it made. Being absorbed into what felt like a very boxed in existence. I wanted him, all of me had… 

I palmed the front of his pants and felt his body stiffen, his fingers tighten in my hair. I followed the zipper of his pants, the shape becoming more defined and pressed hard. Haphazardly, I unzipped his jeans and he tipped his head back—balancing himself momentarily on the equipment. Through the folds of his boxers, I had pulled him out and without processing any moral dilemmas that I’d been sure I had, I mouthed the tip of him. His hold on my head slid to the back as he pressed me forward into him. The soft head, hot in my mouth moved over my tongue, quickly poking the back of my throat. Unsure if I wanted it that far in, I turned my head, forcing him to the front of my mouth. I flicked the hardened head with my tongue sending and felt a shiver go through him. 

My hands moved up the backs of his legs, settling for squeezing his ass, pushing him further into me. I'd caught him trying to look down with the mask on, the long pointed nose of it poking his chest and sliding up his face. His mouth hung open, nearly hidden in the shape of it. Impulsively, I had drawn him in deeper and sucked harder. His body pushed and pulled against it-- I was sure it was confliction between pain and ecstasy by the way he’d tensed. My hand traced around, grabbing the side of him, then up to his stomach. His knees buckled, maybe it had been too intense. I had pulled back, opting to run my tongue along the bottom of him.. He grabbed my hair, driving his hips into me.

Jay succumbed to the floor and I moved quick to straddle his legs, my hands raking his chest, trying to touch everything I could. His shoulders retracted back and he strained, bending his knees, slightly clenching his back and thighs. In pulses, my mouth filled. This presented a problem. I depended on instinct to guide me this far and instinct now was saying to spit it out. I raced to sit up—still holding it in my mouth. Feeling the heat contrast. The taste...bleach...turning my stomach. I looked at him, desperately unsure what to do, how to communicate this to him. He put a hand out as if to assure me, "It's ok," his mind was too tired and it read in his body language, "if you can't swallow, th-"

It was too late. Hunching over, wretched and puked on the floor, down the already damp sweatshirt. Pants. Everywhere. It was hard to breathe. Impossible. My mouth hung open, gasping. Jay trying to wake his mind up to react. The music was overwhelming my senses. I looked down at the checkered floor, able to one again feel which way the earth span.

____________________________________________________

I woke up to the glow of soft light reflecting off the walls. "Fuck..." My body hurt. Head hurt. An unsteady hand to the wound I'd been sporting—that hurt too. “What the fuck,” I tried to recall last night--even that very act, hurt. 

I pulled a blanket over my shoulders and scoped out my immediate surroundings. Recently acquired experience told me I was inside a shipping container, however, nothing like the rusty, barren, horrifying one I'd been to earlier. The inside was painted flat black; a set of stacked monitors hung on the back wall from the ceiling, metal desks against the long side. On the far wall, a beige metallic mesh cabinet lit from the inside and closest to my head, near the fold out bed I was on, a black mesh locker stood, lined with guns and armour behind its doors. Shelves used the vertical space, stacked with folders, and a map of what I presumed to be Chicago filled a large portion of what remained of the wall. Then there was Aiden. I sat up upon seeing him, his head resting in his hand, leaning on the second desk.

I inhaled sharply, having just agitated my shoulder in a battle with the blanket. “Oh Fuck.”

"Morning."

Memories of the night flooded in but felt distant enough that I wasn't sure if they'd actually happened. I remembered puking. I felt like I had. I felt like I wanted to again, "Aiden?"

"Fun night?" He handed me a small Styrofoam cup. The pungent smell hit hard: coffee.

I squinted my eyes and touched the cup to my lips, "No." I mumbled, a giggle escaped. It'd caught me off guard. I looked at him questioningly, “that’s...different.”

"Uh huh." Doubt evident. He turned his phone to me, a picture of a picture of me, tongue deep in someone's mouth, pale breasts for all to see, “Look familiar?”

"Oh god," I put my free hand to my eyes, "what the hell." Giggling still pried its way between words and facial expressions.

"You gonna make it?" He relocated to the end of the narrow bed and stared out for a moment, as if inwardly debating, "You're high," not accusational, "still."

"No." My head shook adamantly.

"Yeah," he smirked and pointed, "I need your phone,"

"My phone?" At this point, Bill Murray and I had more in common than ever before. I thought about it, unsure where it was and not sure if I was willing to give it up again. After a moment of searching, I fished it out of the sweatshirt pocket, "I'm actually impressed you didn't just take it," I slapped it on the bed.

He looked at me, as if I should know better, "I tried. You were moaning and kinda grabby," he looked at his hand, seemingly wet from the phone, and wiped it on the blanket that covered me, "felt safer to wait." He turned his attention down to the phone, “Hmm." It came out with a little laugh.

"What?" I pulled the blanket down more and tried to crawl over and see.

"Daddy Aiden?" That was familiar. I snorted and quickly regained composure. He continued to scroll through until my phone made a noise that immediately turned my face 10 shades of red.

“What the fuck is that?” My arms reached for the phone, then quickly recoiled in pain.

Aiden must have muted it, but his face didn't hide the shock well, “You remember your night?"

“Fuck. What was it?!” I yelled. 

“You can see for yourself when you get your head on straight.” He pocketed it, like a parent taking away a favorite toy. So close but definitely off limits. 

Mindfully, I remained quiet, trying to piece together something, anything. The texts he’d sent. He’d been by the door. I remembered I was suppose to go to him, “You were there?

"Briefly,” still watching me intently, “I couldn’t find you before shit hit the fan," he leaned back on his elbow, “seems like you made it out just fine.” His tone had been hinting at something.

"You were there for me?"

"Yes and no," he looked up, hesitant, "I was looking for your CTos friend, wasn’t expecting Defalt."

“Defalt? What'd you do to him?” vaguely curious.

“Nothing, apparently.” His voice was low, disappointed. I'd picked up on the undertone, he had tried to kill him.

“You and Jordi are very casual about killing people.” My eyes couldn't blink.

"Defalt's trying to kill _us_.” There was hostility, “He’s threw you in the middle of a shootout,” the anger died quickly, “a lot of people died last night.”

“I don’t know why you’re getting mad at me, I never met Defalt last night.”

"You're half naked in my bed with his sweatshirt on," he took a quick sip of coffee, “his name is literally tattooed on your ass, and then, there’s-“ he rubbed his face.

I looked down at myself, unsure if his claim was true. But, It was. Black zip-up hoodie with 'Defalt' screened on the front. I touched it. Then, as if suddenly self-aware for the first time, I felt the stinging pain Aiden has so gracefully mentioned. Embarrassment settled in, then anger--”How’d you know where I was?”

“Your phone.” Plainly, as if I should have just known. Stupid me

“You can track my phone?” quietly angry.

“Yeah.” Duh.

“Anything else I should know?”

“Do you want me to skip over the part where I’ve read all the User Data Blume has on you, or go back to the second you left your phone in my car, I hacked you?"

“The fuck?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” 

“It sounds pretty fucking bad,” easily getting carried away, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You voluntarily give that information out, there's a whole profile about you, about everyone. Where you’d go, who you’d call, What you'll buy. I needed to get my phone back.”

“And afterwards?” 

“You and I split up, Jordi brought you to an undisclosed location. I needed to know who was manipulated CTos to get to you. If I hadn’t “tracked” your phone--”

His constant validation for doing all the wrong things were overwhelmingly disturbing. Not only that, using me as bait in what apparently ended with “a lot of people” dying didn’t bode well. I balled up a fist and whacked him repeatedly on the shoulder, spilling the coffee on his coat.

He became rigid, grabbed my arm and pinned me on the bed. I fought to get my hands loose. "You can't just fuck with people's lives like this, Aiden." I said it through gritted teeth, “How can I trust you?” My legs kicked fruitlessly out from behind him, unable to reach and do any damage, “If you’d told me the plan, I wouldn’t-” 

He sat up high on my chest, my arms under his legs, his hand over my mouth. The glare he shot as he looked down was sobering, "I'm going to get off of you, are you done?” My eyes wanted back to his, my body still under the weight of him. I nodded.

A sob escaped my mouth as his hand lifted, and he backed off me--seemingly allergic to crying. In the midst of gulping air to fuel my breakdown, a familiar feeling rushed in, my skin felt hot, my back suddenly cold. I sat up to puke. My throat burned and my eyes stung with tears. The epitome of embarrassment.

"You're a fucking mess," he took off his brown leather jacket and tossed it on the bed, "put it on." I gulped air, tears freely flowing down my face.

"You can't put this all on me,” his voice was low and hesitant. “You did a lot on your own to get here,” he motioned to the puke that slopped off the bed and pooled onto the floor, "Your actions have consequences, and frankly, I'm exhausted trying to protect you from them.” He backed up to the end of the container, sliding a metal door open to the rear locker and unzipped a bag on a shelf. I watched while I debated whether or not to continue my pity party or whip the vomit soaked pillow at his head. He, as if he didn't just open a can of worms, began carelessly grabbing things and shoving them in the black bag, his back to me. A drop sigh, “This would be easier if I-," a small pause, "You are chaos,” another pause as he had tried to cram a large rifle into the bag, “I'm gonna keep my promise, I'll keep you safe...But we do things my way,” he turned to me, eyes cold, “I don't trust you, and now we're in a situation where we need to trust each other, or this whole thing's gonna blow up in our faces.”

Confused on the future tense; it has absolutely already blown up in our faces. My own, in particular. It was probably the closest I'd ever get to a sorry and even then, If it was, he was failing spectacularly at it. Subject change, “What are you doing?”

"Moving.” He sounded less than thrilled.

"Why?"

He stopped what he was doing and partially turned towards me, "How'd you get in here?"

I shrugged, "I dunno."

"I don't know either.” he motioned for me to hurry and out on the jacket, “We’re running out of places to hide.”

I had put on the coat, once more reunited with the warm earthy smell from before, and zipped up the front; hiding my otherwise bare form. Aiden, putting down a bag, opened the doors and disappeared into the daylight, his head only popping in quickly"let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"Not out here." He seemed in a hurry, though his tone was at ease. His foot falls were rushed, maybe he knew something I didn't. He loaded the towers into the back of a green mini van and waited in the driver's seat for me to get in, leaning over across the seat to open my door.

I sat beside him, both of us quiet for a moment. “I still don't trust you...”

“But?”

“I know I fucked up last night. I just want things to go back to normal,” I looked down at my knees, bruised and bare, “I guess I need you, so I’ll...try to listen… to you.” It felt like defeat.

“I won’t hold my breath.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts on characterizations?
> 
> I had a bit of difficulty with Jay. There's definitely going to be a bigger thing between he and Aiden, but I figured he'd probably present one way and have an ulterior motive behind it. Before, in the previous story, he'd been kinda mischievous but was lacking in any true purpose behind what he was doing. Chapter 6, there's a lot he says and does that sets up later chapters. 
> 
> What are thoughts on Jordi? Aside from hand gestures and kinda a crude uncaring manner he has in the game, I'd tried to revive some of that comradery they had, but also to not neglect the end of watchdogs.


	7. A Wrench in the Works

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate deals with her own fuck up.
> 
> Aiden's desire for hamburgers inadvertently gets people killed
> 
> Wrench's shenanigans rub off on Kate
> 
> Socks are Kate's downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have mostly proof read this. 
> 
> There is a sex scene in here, and I've redone it twice. I'm probably going to redo it 100 times...but it just is what it is.
> 
> But it's been almost a year...so...figured I'd post something.
> 
> Let me know what you think.

I’d spent the first few moments in quiet contemplation as we made our way to a main road and merged onto the highway. No sooner than I closed the door, did I resign myself to folding my arms, slumping sideways, and leaning an elbow on the ledge to get as much physical distance as humanly possible. While my walk of shame out of a shipping container was mortifying, it paled in comparison to being in an enclosed space with the man that straddled me less than ten minutes ago, all the while I grew ever aware of the cool pleather that pushed against me, with no barrier. It played over and over in my mind and left me flustered, so I sunk back into Aiden's coat, trying to hide my face and not to breathe in the scent of leather and whatever the earthy undertone that was particularly strong near the collar. I squeezed my knees together and angled them inwards as I perseverated on my predicament, the lack of pants and the stinging sensation pulsing through my right ass cheek. The only thing my wild imagination could come to fathom was that a vegetable peeler was taken to the soft tender flesh of my underside and someone had gone to town. Unable to stop the pain, I abruptly exhaled and tried shifting my weight, again.

"You alright?" The voice was sudden and hesitant.

Squeezing my arms tighter, the jacket audibly squinched, "I'm fine."

From my peripheral I'd seen his head tilt, "You're fine?'' 

"Yeah," I adjusted my position, discomfort persisting.

"Right..." an impatient exhalation, "ah--you don’t--” he was oddly reluctant, “seem fine.”

I was quiet for a few moments, pondering a sufficient rebuttal. However, my mind and mouth clearly were detached, "My ass hurts..." it blurted out faster than I could press my lips together. There was a delay while I considered how horribly vague my announcement was, "like, the side of it, it just…” I let out a deep breath, “it hurts to sit."

His face turned from contemplation to subtle amusement before he'd caught my glare and straightened up again, "Your...uh...tattoo?" 

"I guess?" He’d notified me of my new addition just prior to his declaration of how argious this had all been; me, particularly. I had no memory of getting a tattoo; I'd been adamant of never wanting one, and so the question begged to be asked, " what, um... you know?"

Silence. That asshole was going to make me say it. "What does it look like?" I looked towards the window, desperate to hide my embarrassment and not wanting to see another smirk at my expense.

"Uh," his voice teetered for a second, "it's just words." 

I waited a moment, but when it was clear he wasn't going to volunteer more information without humiliating me further, "What...umm...do they say?" My voice was pitchy.

"Really wasn’t in a mood to read your ass this morning." A nearly inaudible chuckle made me whip my head around. He knew damn well what it said! Why wouldn't he tell me? Why was he being difficult? We locked eyes, his amusement held in the slight upturn in the corner of his mouth. I was sure I'd looked pissed because he'd once again smoothed over his expression, his attention aimed straight ahead, "It says “Defalt's by default.””

"What?"

"Your a--...your tattoo...says Defalt's by default."

My heart thudded in my ears as I worked out that at some point last night, Jay, who I was sure had been sober and moderately of sound mind, saw fit to have a tattoo of his handle tacked onto my butt. Why my butt? Why tattoo me at all? I whacked my fist against the door unconsciously. Fucking fuck!

A deep breath later, my spine solidified enough to risk another look over to Aiden to see in my mini tantrum had gone unnoticed. As predicted, surprise, surprise; he was completely unphased that I hit the van. His van? This van? We had to have been on our third vehicle in under a week. I shook it off. Either he didn't notice or he didn't care; I was betting on the latter.

The ambient drone of the engine allowed me to retract my attention further inwards. My thoughts awkwardly turned to the feeling of the pleather now matching the heat of my groin, the radiating throb of my tattoo, my rapid breaths, the pain in my shoulder, how dizzy I felt, and tired I’d been. Beyond that, it was chaotic; I was scared of the mess I was in, scared I had to face it alone, and I was angry and annoyed by Aiden's polarity. I couldn’t remember why I had hoped he’d save me, when this whole thing was his mess. He was the criminal and yet somehow I was the one in trouble. He’s the reason I was here—groggy, nauseous, tagged and probably fucked. Did I fucked Jay? Was there any chance I’d leave Chicago in one piece? Do I just give up? I dragged myself out here to see Josh one last time, but that ship has sailed. I couldn’t even revert to the childish desire to have my mother here to comfort me; I’d seen her and she was less than moved. Even now, I’m sure she was blowing up my wall, warning all my friends and coworkers-- probably posting rants about how I should turn myself in. It all caved in on me. Every feeling I’d put on hold. All the personal shit I’d pushed aside. Any coherent thought was gone. My mouth opened and a gasp escaped, followed by a sob that I couldn’t hold in. What the hell was happening to me? Why now? Why did he have to be here for it? I had no place to hide.

Eyes back to the passenger window and on the verge of a nervous breakdown, last night took another lap around my mind; Jay specifically. From the very little I’d gathered beforehand, the digital trip and all the shit that came with it, was his doing. Apparently he wasn’t simply just Jay; he was some rat-masked techie who went by Defalt. He'd been waiting for me on the train the day I ran from the airport, and last night he’d made a game of forcing me out of hiding. He saved me though. If this fiasco was to get people to kill each other, why was I still alive? I had no survival skills. Why warn me at the airport, why intercept the drinks? Aiden pressed that Jay was dangerous...but Aiden had been casually homicidal on more than one occasion, consistently reckless with people and property--he was by far the worse of the two. At this point, I’d been sure his only interest in 'helping' me was to figure out what I knew and to keep me from telling anyone else. Joke’s on him, I didn’t know shit.

The more I tried to recall last night, the more distraught I became, ‘I remember I went down on him,’ fighting back the urge to sulk into shame and headed toward the question the left me restless—'But did I fuck him?’. It was blank. Everything after that moment was gone. I shook my head and grabbed my face in embarrassment before reminding myself where I was and who I was with. I settled for putting my head on the glass and trying to breathe through the mounting hysteria.

“Hmm?” out of nowhere.

I turned to him, mouth open, ready to respond, expecting the same detached Aiden from moments ago only to find I had his full attention. There was the occasional glance ahead, but his eyes returned to me—questioningly. Facing forward as heat crawled up my neck,“Nothing.” It came out breathy.

“You said something.” Under the evenness of his tone, he’d been impatient.

“If I wanted to say something, I'd say it." 

“Uh huh,” snarkiness, “you did say 'something’… ”

Silence hung in the air; stifling, heavy, and obtrusive. Staring him down, desperate not to lose the proverbial game of chicken; he returned the sentiment, neglecting the road. My hand dug into the pleather seat, the pressure on the tips of my nails almost painful, but this was the hill I wanted to die on. At least, it was until the we slightly veered off the side of the road, the loud noise and jolt of the rumble strip startled me. My gaze wavered out the windshield; the highway was straight and empty. He corrected the van. There’d been no reason why we’d gone onto the shoulder other than him being a dick. “What the fuck?”  
The van piped up as it unnecessarily accelerated and switched to the left lane. Cars started to appear on the road up ahead in a steady stream of traffic. "Aiden!?" My eyes flickered between him and the road.

"Mmm hmm?"

"Aiden!?" frantically.

"Yeah?" Unphased.

“You're going to get us killed!” I gestured up ahead and instinctively tried to break.  
He sneered, “Exactly what the hell are you on?” It was pointed. He let out a slow breath and the engine whirred down, no longer careening towards traffic up ahead.  
“What? Why?” I incredulously snapped, but I couldn't grasp where the question came from, "what the fuck does that have to do with anything?" I smacked the dashboard, adrenaline still pacing through me.

“You’ve been talking--" annoyance grabbing onto the last word.

"Well, you’re driving like an asshole-" he put a hand up to interrupt me.

"--since we've been in the car."

“Huh?” There was a short delay from when I heard the words, to when I processed what he’d said. My brain scrambled to remember what I'd been saying, if I’d been saying anything at all. What exactly had I said?

As if able to read my mind, “You've been bouncing between what a terrible human being I am and whether or not you fucked Defalt," His voice was thick and gravelly, “at least three times by my count.”

“Okay, just...shut up!” I covered my face with my hands to hide my sense of shame. What the fuck was wrong with me? What the fuck was wrong with him? “You coulda fucking said something!”

“I did," another jerk of the wheel, "just now, “ sending the van across two lanes to a narrow off-ramp, stopping abruptly at the end of the ramp where a red light stood by. The vehicle shook roughly as it idled and the low buzz of the car-frame vibrating filled whatever space was left inside.

Another sigh and a slight head shake “I’m not keeping you around because I want something,” he bit his upper lip. The light changed and we moved forward, creeping back to civilization, "If you'd stop running away every chance you get, I'd have more answers for you. But most of my time is spent hunting you down and getting nowhere." He sounded frustrated, but mostly tired.

I felt stupid for a moment which made me defensive, but I remembered his equally dumb plan, "Right, so using me as bait was you wanting nothing from me? You’re the reason my ass hurts and--" he cut me off, again.

"Yeah, okay, maybe some cooperation on your part would be nice. I’d hoped whoever was using CTos would reach out, not that you’d run off and put yourself in danger--I thought Jordi was clear on staying put."

A pang of anxiety washed over me as I reflected on that pep talk we’d had, "Oh, he was."

"Then where's the fucking disconnect? You deliberately do the exact opposite of what anyone tells you to do. Are you fucking crazy?" He parked the car on the side of the road, in front of a narrow diner stacked below multiple floors of brick and glass, wedged between two buildings. He turned his body to me, eyes narrowed, "Whatever you think you know about Defalt--he's not your friend, he isn’t rescuing you--he’s just putting you in more danger, and you don’t need help with that. He's fucking with you and once he can't use you—”

“Pot, meet kettle.” I'd said it rather apathetically. 

He smashed his fist on the steering wheel and I flinched, "I can leave you here and we can see how you hold up on your own."

I stared blankly past my arms that I'd raise instinctively. I'd been so candid with him, that I'd forgotten pissing him off could end badly for me. 

"Don’t," he raised his hands up, his voice winding down, low, "Just stop, you don't--I'm not going to hurt you."

Still dazed, I dropped my arms and tried to withstand the desire to point out how contrary that proclamation had been. 

Another exasperated breath, followed by him leaning back between the seats; his sweater brushed my cheek as he strained to grab something. Curious, "What are you doing?"

He sat back in his seat, plopped a plastic bag in my lap tacitly and watched, “Here.”

I looked at the bag on my bare thighs and back at him, "Are these," I questioned as my fingers parted the top, "clothes?" A brief look through revealed all the odds and ends that would have been wonderful when I’d woken up and puked all over myself. "You had these,” I shook my head and felt my arms shiver, “the whole time?" I turned to him, embarrassed for myself more than I’d been. "You made me walk outside...I've been practically naked for the last half hour," my mouth hung open as I muttered to myself. 

He met my eyes, but I wasn't able to read him, “I want my coat back. Get changed.” 

I froze, trying to pick through what just happened and then residing to not look too much into it. A dinging sound broke me from my anger; Aiden had opened his door and slammed it shut. I watched him trudge around to the front and stand by my window, back facing me. 

Once I’d gotten changed, to the best of my abilities, I knocked a knuckle on the glass and he opened the door. While there was a measurable improvement in my own morality, I’d felt slighted somehow when I’d realized I couldn’t get my arm in the sleeve of the sweatshirt. The tanktop had been remarkably easy, which led me to believe he remembered I’d been slightly immobile, but the sweatshirt was either ‘he forgot’ or a very subtle ‘fuck you”. I swung my legs out of the car, and stared blankly past him, one arm in the sweatshirt, and the other half balled up at my neck. 

“That’s a problem.” He pulled the band of the sweatshirt down over me, and maneuvered his hand through the cuff of the sleeve, fishing for my other hand inside. “There.”

I slid off the seat, my legs wobbly for a moment as I got my bearings. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe I was still high on god knows what; I was tired as fuck and the upright position wasn’t kind to my equilibrium. Once I steadied myself, I leaned quietly against a nearby utility pole as he fastened a strap across his reclaimed jacket. 

“Come on,” a slight head nod in the direction of the diner.

____

Aiden sat across from me with his elbows on the red table top, hands covering his mouth. He moved them after a few moments of exchanging vacant expressions and parted his lips, “He--”

“Good morning! Welcome to the Daily Grind! My name is Katrina and I will be your waitress! Can I start you off with something to drink?”

Aiden’s facade changed, somehow looking pleasant, if that was even possible, “I’ll have…” he looked behind the counter, presumably to see what was available, “a coke.”

“Absolutely,” she was overly personable, “and you, miss?”

I didn’t turn to look at her. I wasn’t particularly in the mood to talk, apparently I’d done it the whole way here. I continued to look forward, immune, but aware of how awkward I was making things.

“We need a minute.” Aiden assured her and she strolled back behind the counter. He watched her and then turned to me, “What the fuck was that?”

“What the fuck was what, Aiden?” Maybe he had a short term memory, but he’d been an asshole all morning and none of that made me want to sit with him in public.

“You,” he restrained himself, “When she comes back, order something.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“You don’t want,” his frame tensed, “fine, suit yourself.”

“Fine.” the laziest comeback that I could muster.

Aiden sat in front of me, his eyes on a plate of fries accompanied by a cheeseburger and abnormally long pickle teetering on the rim of a paper-lined plastic basket.  
Our lovely waitress, Katrina, had asked me three more times if I wanted anything, looking to Aiden to answer for me when I continued to fail to acknowledge her. Aiden had assured her I was fine and he’d let her know if I changed my mind.

Watching him eat was like watching a toddler trying to put a square peg in a round hole, specifically when it came to him somehow biting into a burger that was hysterically huge. Eventually he managed. He paused mid-bite, catching me looking at him. It took a long time from when it was obvious he wanted to say something to when he’d worked the food down his throat. But when he had, his tone was astonishingly soft, “You change your mind?”

I shook my head. 

“When’s the last time you had anything?” He bit into a fry after drowning it in bright red ketchup.

I shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly, but actually had to put a lot of thought into it. Then, it hit me; the pretzels I’d had before I arrived in Chicago. They were comically terrible. But, they were before I’d been car-jacked, before I ran from the police, got shot. Before my existence had been dragged through the gutter. I really missed those pretzels. A distracting sensation of cold running down my cheeks snapped me from them--my hands rushed to wipe my face. My eyes averted down and I tried to grasp at any thought that wouldn’t push me over the edge.

“Hey,” the stark sincerity reached across the table and I looked up, “you’re going to be okay.” My chin quivered and my breath shook. I put my palms on the table, and those too, shook. “We’re going to get through this, but right now, why don’t we get something to eat. We’ll figure out what comes next, after.”  
It was reassuring, but why was he being reassuring? I was rather confident that he single handedly orchestrated the last hour of misery. I shook my head, unable to speak, not accepting whatever this was. 

Completely ignoring my protest, he raised an arm and flagged down Katrina who returned before I could gather myself together. “You wanna add to your order?” She addressed Aiden. Her body angled away from me, brown ponytail swaying as she spoke.

“Yeah, she’ll have--” he drew out the word while he looked at me, probably guessing at what I would actually eat, “a coke, and uh...chicken--,” I shook my head, “okay, not chicken, a hamb-” I continued to shake my head and his voice trailed off. “You’re doing breakfast, still?”

“Every day ‘til eleven.” Unsure which of us to look at.

“She’ll have pancakes.” Without turning away, he handed her my menu and shot me an irritatingly smug smile.

It was obvious that Katrina wanted to ask something; maybe it was to offer a variety of pancake choices or to see if I wanted a different beverage besides the oddly matched coke, or perhaps it was what the fuck was wrong with me. But she didn’t. She turned on a heel, left, and returned shortly with a stack of four pancakes, a scoop of butter on the side reminiscent of a ball of ice cream, and placed a small glass pitcher of syrup on the table.

I looked at the plate and then over to Aiden’s which had been devoured, save the pickle, which he hadn’t bothered with. “You want me to cut your pancakes too, or can you manage that?”

My primary feeling was annoyance for how belittling the whole exchange had been this morning up until a few moments ago, but when I caught sight of a sheepish grin just above the hand he placed on his chin, I was baffled. Was he joking with me? I couldn’t tell. I must have stared too long, because he quite literally started cutting my pancakes. And then, like an old memory I’d forgotten, I’d seen him amiable like this with Lena and Jackson...no… he called him Jacks. His sister as they’d grown up and moved apart. It morphed into Jacks being older, living with Nikki living in Nevada. Lena wasn’t there, but neither was Aiden. 

He handed me the handle of the fork and pushed the plate towards me, waiting for some kind of reaction. I felt like I was sitting in a theatre, able to see everything before me, but unable to interact. Honestly, I had really hoped that these flashes were done.

“Nevada?” I mumbled as I pulled away from it.

“What’s in Nevada?” The smirk died down. He stared for a moment, visibly trying to ascertain what I’d meant by it. Then, there it was, he knew, “No.” His voice somewhere between disbelief and denial.

Realizing that this was likely a nail in my coffin, I reluctantly nodded my head and grabbed the utensil, stabbed a forkful of pancakes, and shoveled them into my mouth. Nearly done choking them down, I felt the back of the bench move and the seat next to me was suddenly occupied.

Donning a black hood and a studded vest, the stranger put his tattooed forearms on the table, sunk back and in a modulated voice, “This place is tight, food any good?” I had to do a double take when I heard it, and I knew I stared too long when I’d seen the mask--more studded pleather with screened goggles. How could he see? He stared back, noticeably tipping his head down, then back to Aiden. 

Aiden's face was unreadable, his posture stiffened though. The stranger continued to talk, his hands moving with nearly every word.

“We’re trying not to draw attention,” Aiden nonchalantly moved the syrup to the side as the hand gestures kept ramping up, “what the fuck is all of that, anyway?”

“This,” he opened a hand and gestured to himself, “is what cracked Blume’s encryption and left a little back door for later. ” The screen across the eyes flickered… ( \ / ) “You’re Welcome, by the way.” Mildly irritated.

“Emojis?” I had questioned aloud, looking to Aiden for an explanation of what the fuck was going on. Aiden caught my look and gave a dismissive wave.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, mystery man’s, and entered what very little I had left of personal space, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, my lady,” feigning some gallant voice straight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Dropping the fork, the clatter louder than anticipated, I pulled my arms into myself and increased my glare across the table. Aiden reluctantly nodded his head, giving up on whatever way he’d likely imagined this would go down, “This is Wrench, He’s..uh…” Aiden cocked an eyebrow at him, “going to be helping us with our problem.”  
“Which um…” I looked at him ( ^ ^ ), unsure of what to make of it, still processing who and what this person was, “problem?” The words fell out carefully into place. 

Leaning in, his voice a whisper, “Is there more than one?” ( ? ? )

“What exactly is he helping with?” Addressing Aiden.

Katrina marched up and slid a menu in front of Wrench, a look of confusion and alarm ran down her face, “Can I get you something to drink while you over at the menu?” Her tone had been on point, I’d have never guessed anything was wrong.

“Is it too early for beer?” The robotic voice overly animated.

In the midst of winding up to say “sure”, she’d stopped, frowned slightly, “We don’t have beer..”

( X X ) “Oh well, just the coffee then.” 

“I’ll be...right back with that,” Seemingly relieved to take off, she disappeared behind the counter, though this time I could hear her talking in the back. 

“So, what'd you find?” Aiden began, now lacing his fingers together. I kicked Aiden in the shin under the table. I knew he’d heard me, and while I was supposed to be relieved that someone was going to help us with “our problem”, I wasn’t sure if BDSM Ken was any consolation. He tensed, his head pivoting to me ever so slightly, “Really, that’s what we’re doing now?”

It was my turn to be selectively deaf, “Why-is-he-here?!”

Wrenched leaned in and feigned a whisper, “I came for you.” ( ^ ^ ) A pang of anxiety shot up my spine, unable to determine how much I should have read into it.

Aiden shook his head and gestured a flat hand in front of his throat, “Don’t,” towards Wrench, then to me, “He codes, amongst other things.” Getting a somewhat decent response made me feel like a kid allowed to sit at the grown-ups table during Thanksgiving.

“Okay?” Unsure of the significance.

“He’s gonna keep you out of trouble.” 

I looked at Wrench, then back to Aiden, “I’ll pass.”

“I wasn't giving you a choice.” Aiden diverted his attention back to Wrench, “Go.”

“Okay, I did some digging and found a few interesting pet projects, mainly military, some commercial use, shitty video game company stuff and because you have a hard on for Blume I found some NDAs,” his voice was high, extending the last word and turning his phone to Aiden.

“Blume’s been bought out by a video game company?” He rubbed the side of his face.

“Yeah. The vultures swooped in when stocks dropped after CTos1- bought fifty-one percent. Blume's still colon deep in everyone's personal shit, security, information routing. But that's not what's interesting, one of many NDAs for Blume whistleblowers," Wrenched thumbed the screen. It was odd how he wanted Aiden to look at whatever this 'interesting' thing was, but wouldn't give Aiden his phone. More so, Aiden didn't even try to grab it, "Looks like some do-gooder made the mistake of going to HR with concerns around ethics over a project Blume was working on called SS or “SYMN SES”,” He made air quotes and if that wasn’t enough ( “ “ ), “Blume's just up and demanded the project development team expedite a behavior modification program no-one on site was familiar with. Blume wanted immediate trials. Looks like some weird shit; subliminal messages for advertisements to straight out forcing users to execute tasks.”

“And this is what The Club bought?”

“From what you said, sounds like it, but the invitation promised names, locations, operation details--someone likely used Blume's code as a base and hid it behind relevant data; like a Trojan horse. Stick your dick in, everything feels nice and legit, but then you pull out, execute the program and that,” he paused as the waitress slid coffee in front of him, “could be anything from going somewhere, altering your mindset until you follow out a command, to absolutely nothing. There’s no way to tailor it to one user, not with the fan base rat-boy has, so there’s no telling how well it’d work. Could be a dud. I’d need more info.”

Aiden nodded in my direction“Patient zero is right there, ask away.”

(? ?) “This,” he pointed and put a hand over where his mouth would be, “How the hell’d she get her hands on it?”

“Long story. Any thoughts on the end game or how Defalt fits into this?”

“Hmm” ( o O ) He looked at me then back to Aiden, “Not a hundred percent on DJ dumbass, as for the grand finale………...also no clue...when did you use it?” His voice was oddly foreboding.

“A little over a week ago...how’s that relevant?”

“The NDA cited their beef with the SS program as ‘subject deaths’. Those assholes knew something was wrong and went balls deep regardless. Most of them went crazy, no more than 4 or 5 days max.” (ν ν)

“Uh, 4 or 5 days max?”

“Until they turned into pumpkins,” he needed a gag, not a mask, “Nah, they died, well--they killed themselves. That’s Blume’s defense anyway. The program was executed in 80% of ‘participants’, again, note the air quotes, 73% of those completed suicide.” ( ^ ~ )

“Where the hell did they find people desperate enough?” Aiden pondered.

“Prison,” ( o O ) “Blume’s running the operation under three local wardens, low profile inmates no one's gonna ask about,” ( ^ ^ ) “They say in prison, no one can hear you scream.”

“None of this is reassuring.” I was drowning in what had been a vacuum of no answers to a flood of spontaneous suicide mixed in with a conspiracy-theory involving Blume and the local prison system.

Katrina popped over, cheerily oblivious. "Are you still working on that?" She addressed me but looked over to Aiden, not confident I’d answer. 

“Yeah, I’m all set.” I’d said it just above a whisper. Reaching out a slender arm, she leaned over the long rectangular table, past Wrench and me, for the plate in one quick motion. 

An odd noise whizzed through the air closely followed by a second one that I made out to be a loud “zip” following a thunk. I turned to the window, now with thick cracks emanating from tiny holes, and then to Katrina, who looked shocked before slamming her face down on the table, eyes towards me. I touched my face and looked at my hand, sure I’d felt something. Blood. A lot of blood. A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me sideways onto the checkered floor. More zip sounds and thuds followed. What was going on? Aiden had his back up against the end of a booth, gun drawn, phone out. Wrench also had his phone out, his back against the nearby counter, facing towards the windows, trying to peer up enough to see something.

“What the fuck?” I sat up, staring at my hands.

“It’s a silencer.” He explained casually. 

I looked over at him, wide eyed. Not only was that not what I was referring to, but I wasn’t sure why he’d been so calm about it. I looked down at myself, the soft cotton of the gray sweatshirt wicking in the thick blood, then over to Katrina who slid backward to the floor, her mouth open, bright pink lipstick perfect, the rest of her face was a mess. She’d been so lively a moment ago, and now? “Aiden?!” I yelped, panic setting in.

He looked over to me, one booth away and across the small aisle, and then down at Katrina, “Shit,” he edged up, eyes on his phone, and shot at the window, the glass shattering amids the loud burst of rounds. He kneeled back down, flipping through his phone, “stay put,” he warned.

Staring at Katrina once more before inching myself over to the gap in the counter, I tucked myself behind the tall enclosure, stacked glasses and stacks of napkins hidden below with me. From there, a double swinging door that likely led to the kitchen, almost muffling the sounds of frantic talking, felt promising. I looked back out to the dining room through the gap, the glass-door to the outside now separated a large figure, covered head to foot in bulky armor, a pack on his back and, “Is that a flame thrower?” I asked aloud? Not waiting around to find out, I crawled over to the double doors, my hands slipping on the tile and finding their way to every piece of glass that flew this far. The pain was sharp but compared to the barbecue that was about to walk in, I didn’t care. I pushed past the doors and stood myself up. 

The room was dimly lit, the tiled floor changed to white squares, metal shelving traced the perimeter, and a mop bucket sat in the middle next to a floor drain. A door on the left had a small glass panel that revealed stairs going up, the doorway to the right was a green kitchen that looked suddenly abandoned with a stove on and the contents of a counter spread out of the floor. Ahead of me, in the narrow space, was a metal fire door that hung partially ajar-- the tell-tale blue light around the gaps signaled outside was close at hand. Without thinking of anything or anyone else, I ran forward, smashing my open palm into the door and stepping one foot out onto the pavement. 

In a very narrow corridor between two buildings, I’d seen three people on the ground; skin partially charred and flaky framed by vivid pink flesh, the stench was harder to bear than the sight. Looking up over them, another figure stood, taller than myself, covered in the same dark beige armor. The helmet read POLICE, “Get on the ground!” Is that what he’d said to them? I’d had a split second to fall back into the building before a large bright flame lurched forward, sweeping left to right. The heat was immense and painful, but I’d gotten back in time and tried to close the door. Scrambling to my feet, I moved between the kitchen and stairway, quickly looking into the dining area to see the other armored tank was already inside. I pushed the metal door and started up the stairs. 

I’d gotten to 2 B before a spike of flame shot up the middle of the stairwell, heat spreading out and filling me with a primordial fear. I thought I’d die in an airplane or drowning, maybe even a car accident… but the thought of being burnt alive struck a terror in me I had never imagined. “That you Tristatt?” The voice called out. I froze for a second, not surprised the police would know my name, but wondered if he was really the police given what he’d done to the kitchen staff. “You don’t need to run, we just want to talk to you.” The clank of heavy footsteps was hard to ignore, impatient and persistent. But there was no way in hell I was waiting to stick around and find out who “we” were and what they wanted to “talk” about, if that was even the case. I continued my mad dash upwards. 

Out of breath when I reached the landing at 6 D, I pushed hard on the white fire door, an alarm now sounding off, alerting all in the area where I was. Brimming with panic I rushed out and slid on the gravel topped roof, grabbed a rail to pull myself up, and started looking for an escape. Rushing around the perimeter of the roof, though I didn’t find a way down, I found the next best thing, “Aiden!” I yelled and waved my hands.

“Kate!” he shouted back from the adjacent roof. It was Aiden, somehow untouched from the ordeal downstairs, across a 9 foot gap about 8 feet below. “Jump!”

Somehow, I knew he was going to say that. I shook my head profusely. “ I can’t,” I shouted across the void, “You jump.”

“That’s not how gravity works.” He motioned his arms for me to come, but I backed away from the edge. Dust and rocks kicked up as a whirring overhead abruptly broke onto the scene. “No way,” was all I could mumble as a helicopter hovered close from out of the blue. My arm raised to protect my eyes from the swirling dirt carried by the wind. 

“Aiden!” I called out again, disoriented.

He looked up at the helicopter and then down at his phone with conviction. Moments later the whir distorted and I looked up to see it swivel as if unbalanced, losing altitude slowly towards the front of the building. “Come on!” Barely audible over the commotion.

“I can’t,” There was no way I could make the jump. I doubted myself hopping rocks across a river, nevermind a huge chasm of death. 

The door to the roof burst open and I quietly mouthed, “oh fuck,” in Aiden’s direction before crouching down behind a large metal fixture. I could barely discern the steps, but I presumed they’d gone to the other side of the roof where there’d been more places to hide.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” He competed with the chaotic ambiance.

Aiden continued to signal me to jump and we’d had a quiet argument between us about what I can and cannot do until the footsteps came close enough to send rocks into the side of the metal siding of my refuge. I pushed my back further into the metal structure, stepping around as the armored enforcer made his way to the edge of the building. The suspense hung in the pit of my stomach as I was sure he and Aiden had seen each other by this point. I, myself, felt very exposed--all he had to do was turn and he’d see me there, cowering and cornered. 

A rapid series of shots rang out, pinging against the armor, the enforcer moving its shoulders back with each blow. It had motioned to lift the flame thrower, but fell forward abruptly, off the edge. Just when I felt myself wind down from the ordeal, the copter regained its composure and levitated overhead, “This is the Chicago PD, put your hands over your head and get on your knees. Officers will arrive momentarily to place you in police custody.” 

Just over the sound of the blades and the clink of vibrating rocks was the metal squeal of the door I'd gone through pushing open, followed by the jaws theme hummed off key. 

“Fuck this,” I stood and gave myself distance from the edge before I sprinted for the ledge. True to my nature, I gracefully lost my footing, barely managed to push off with one foot, and smacked my chest into the roof below. Winded from the hit and with only one functional arm, I was unable to grab a hold of anything stationary, and began a rapid slide backward. Aiden grasped my forearm and leaned back, pulling me up and over. We tumbled backwards, Aiden taking a hard fall on his back and I landing on him, still unable to draw in a normal breath. 

I'd just enough time to get up and survey the scene before Wrench crouched down on the adjacent building, shouting “Hasta la vista, Baby” ( ^ ^ ) bracing a brightly painted grenade launcher over his shoulder. The sound was remarkably quiet upon exiting the barrel, but roared to life as the helicopter exploded upon impact. Aiden didn’t stop to marvel and rushed me to the other-side of the roof and down a metal fire escape to avoid the falling debris. 

I'd taken a seat in the van by myself as Aiden chose to chew Wrench out; he’d been less than thrilled with the grenade launcher and now that the immediate danger was over, his superiority complex afforded him the luxury of correcting everyone. Though I thought the grenades were rather unexpected and possibly excessive, but having the helicopter not be a thing anymore was a relief. I looked at my hands, glass and rock embedded in the palms, down the front of me, still covered in spatters of Katrina, and started picking pieces out, letting them drop on the rubber mat. “All this because Aiden wanted a fucking hamburger.”

Wrench did a casual wave which turned into a middle finger as he rounded the corner, and Aiden returned to the driver's seat, exhausted. We’d gotten out of the area before more police arrived. It struck me as odd that two armored officers and a police copter showed up, but not one cruiser. Then again, shooting the waitress through the head and crisping the kitchen staff also didn’t align with any preconceived notion I had of them. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” He seemed preoccupied.

“Those guys, were they actually the police, or?”

“Does it matter?” Aiden turned into a parking garage, stopped at an automated checkpoint and held his phone up to a reader.

“I just, I need, did we kill a bunch of cops?” I’d agonized over Katrina, who’d had no part in this. But, if we killed cops, wasn’t there a good chance that maybe, just maybe, we were not the good guys in this situation.

Aiden pulled forward, waved to the security guard who had his face in his phone, and headed up, “You don’t have to worry about it, you didn’t kill anybody.” I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be comforting or mocking me for my low body count.

The garage clearly belonged to a luxury apartment building that abutted it; CCTV cameras, resident only parking, and a crappy security guard at the front gate. We’d somehow been able to badge in and roll on through, and judging by the little Fjord Siesta that rolled up to us, the masked madman in the driver's seat, Wrench had been able to as well. I’d stepped out when Aiden had and followed the two, empty handed, while they played a dangerous game of jenga, trying to balance electronics in their arms and open doors.

We’d gone up a large elevator and wound up on the 15th floor. I turned to Aiden as I looked down the hall of closed doors and red and gold carpet, “What are we doing here?” I whispered loudly.

“Oh,” as if caught off guard by the question, “We’re moving in.”

“Moving in?” I raised an eyebrow. 

“We’re ‘borrowing’ it,” he held his phone to a gray pad on the door which flashed green and beeped, “Owner’s are out of town for a while, they won't mind.”

There it was, Aiden and his lack of concern for anything that wasn’t his. Though, when the door opened to reveal large floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the city, and a near stark white interior, I’d almost forgave the trespass. It was beautiful and calm. Organized. Like something out of a not-shitty Ikea magazine.  
“So we’re just gonna,” I opened the door to the bathroom and gawked at the huge walk in shower, rain head spout, river stone floor, “stay here.”

“If it bothers you that much, I can find a motel-” Aiden eased a monitor onto the floor.

“It’s fine.” I shut myself in the bathroom, turned the faucet and stripped. Waiting for the water to heat up, I'd thought about Katrina, how I’d been the last person she interacted with, and I had been so cold toward her. I felt like shit. Did she have kids? Was she even old enough to have kids? I closed my eyes and fought the urge to cry over it. It was time to say goodbye, and scrub her away. The water was finally warm and the pressure was high. I stepped into the stream and plopped on the floor.

A knock broke me from my trance, followed by light prying through a widening crack in the door. Did I not lock it? I turned my head up to see Aiden partially close the door behind him and flip on the light. My eyes squinted. "What?" Perturbed. 

He kept his distance and turned his head so as to not look directly at me. "You've been in here for a while, just wanted to make sure everything was okay." 

"Yeah, I'm fine." I pitched my voice high, trying to sound as peppy as possible given the situation. 

"No, you're not," it was low, not argumentative in the slightest, "when you're finished up, I'll take a look at your hands." 

"My hands?"

He tipped his head and my eyes followed, diluted streams of bloodied water trickled down the front of my legs and swirled around the drain, I'd forgotten about them. My attention pulled back to him, though he seemed suddenly pensive, his eyes not meeting my own. “What?”

“You took off,” his fist clenched and then eased, “again.” I looked up, questioningly. “If you’d stayed put, like I’d said, the roof, the helicopter--none of it would have happened.” 

Staring at his hands, watching them tense and relax, I rolled my eyes. It wasn’t because I didn’t care, and it wasn’t because I thought he was simply complaining to complain. He’d been right and I’d nearly forgotten he’d told me to stay put before I crab-walked under the counter. I couldn’t hide myself to process it. 

Likely perceiving contempt, “You say I’m casually homicidal and yet when your actions get people hurt and killed, you suddenly don’t care.” 

I audibly choked and found myself lost for words. I shook my head, burying my face in my knees, covering my head with my hands, and cried. 

"We have somewhere to be, don't take too long." He left, closing the door softly behind him.

____

I sat alone at a small round pub table while Wrench waited at the bar for our drinks. We'd come here about an hour ago to meet a particularly homely man with an over-sized sweater draped over his frail form. I'd been ordered to stay put and behave while Aiden and Wrench talked with him, far out of earshot and far enough that I couldn't make out his face in the dimly lit bar. It was too loud here; music played through a few speakers and several games aired on large screens behind the bar, blaring out stats I knew nothing about, and it’d been packed. Their conspiracy convention had been brief, which left Aiden and Wrench standing at the table while I sulked with my arms crossed. Ignoring my shitty mood, Aiden suggested we "take the night off" and that he'd be back in the morning. It was a refreshing change of pace for sure, every hurdle we'd encountered felt like a leg of a race that I couldn’t compete in. I'd wondered what information he'd gotten that'd been so pressing that he had to take off and leave us behind. It’d left a lot to my imagination right up until I saw him at the bar, talking to a Brunette. It made sense, Wrench was here to supposedly help… as my babysitter so Aiden could “take the night off”. 

I'd been careful not to stare, but Wrench had traced my eyeline. He leaned in, "she bought him a drink." ( ! ! )

“Don’t care.”

“Right, me neither.” He spun around on the bar stool, the studs on his vest hitting the metal rim of the table when he kicked off, making a rhythmic click. 

"So, he's going to be out all night?" It felt so out of place to see him leaning in and grinning, talking about God knows what. We had shit to do. I was pretty sure Wrench had spelt out that the supersecretlolz likely seemed to be something that ended with me dying, but here we were. In the middle of east bumfuck pissing the night away.

Wrench shrugged his shoulders, "You're not gonna ask me about our clandestined meeting?" He positioned himself in front of my face. (o O )

"Are you going to tell me?" 

"No, but you could try to guess and I'll do hot or cold." ( ^ ^ ) He stopped spinning the chair.

"Sure." I felt dead tired and though I highly suspected Wrench was here to watch me, it felt like I was here to keep him preoccupied. 

"I'm going to get a drink, you want something?" ( ? ^) “You do drink, right?” ( ? ? )

"Ah, just get me some weird craft beer thingy." I could've cared less, but that sentiment seemed to be mine alone.  
( - - ) 

"What's with the," I pointed to his face, unsure what to make of the emoticon, "not a fan?"

"Craft beer is a scam to get you to pay more for beer that tastes like shit. That's why it's not mass produced," I sat through a lecture on my choice of drink until I changed it to soda water and agreed to never mention "craft beer" again. 

So there he was, standing at the bar, the large red patch on the back of his vest facing me, while Aiden sat on the other side laughing with some mystery girl that had been there with a friend. It was jarring, especially since he’d been so diligent, not long ago, to grab an AK out of the van, run up the stairs of the adjacent building, and pump two clips into Chicago’s finest. But here he was, shooting the shit with some chick, while he nursed a drink and laughed like a bunch of people didn’t just die. It resurfaced; Katrina, the three crispy kitchen staff in the Alley, the Enforcer upstairs, probably the enforcer downstairs, and however many people had been in the helicopter. Wrench blew it up in mid air...did people down below get hurt? Aiden's earlier anger towards Wrench seemed warranted and I felt like an asshole for chalking it up to a complex. But he did have one.

Wrench meandered back to the table, leaned an elbow and watched with me, "Am I interrupting something?" ( @ @ )

"What? No." I'd sounded overly offended, even to myself.

"Then, why are we watching him?" ( ~ ^ ) . His hands spread out, as if careless to the matter. He pushed a beer in front of me, "try it."

It wasn’t what I asked for, "I don't think-"

"Just take a sip," he lightly whacked the side of my arm, “humor me.” 

I sipped the mystery bottle, the dark amber glass hiding any clue to its contents, and scrunched my face, "wow-”

"You like?"

"You’re right, craft beer tastes like shit?!"

“It’s not-” then he got it, ( \ / ) "see if I ever share with you again." He lifted the bottom of his mask and took a swig, ahhing in reverey. I watched and wondered how he convinced the bartender to serve him alcohol with his face covered. He definitely seemed old enough, but even I got carded more often than not. “What?” ( ? ? )

“Why exactly...what’s with the mask?” My eyes went to the tattoo on his neck and then to the ground, staring at his shoes. 

“Doesn’t do anything for you?” ( ; ; )

“No, it’s not,” treading carefully, “like what’s under it? Do you have a conjoined twin on your face… or?”

( ^ ^ ) “I’ll make you a deal.” 

I quirked a brow, “Oh?”

“Yeah,” he slid closer to me, hand outstretched dramatically in front of us, “You cock-block Pearce and I’ll show you.”

I smirked at the phraseology, and then at the idea of disappointing Aiden. Letting out a half laugh, “You want him to kill me?”

“What’s the worst he’d do? Send you to your room?” Yet another dad reference ( ^ ~ )

“Clearly you’re not well acquainted, I’m not sure the mask mystery’s worth it.” I inched away, “Why?”

( ? ? ) “Why?” He shrugged his shoulders, “Think about it; he’s gonna get his dick wet, I’m gonna be up all night playing PSO, and you’ll probably be crying yourself to sleep over,” he rolled his hand, searching for the word.

“Katrina?” Hesitantly, struggling to follow his logic.

“See, you even remember her name,” he closed the space between us again, clearly unaware of boundaries, “worse comes to worse, he goes back with us, reads you the riot act, and goes to bed with his right hand,” he put his back to the chair rest.

It took me a second to figure out what he’d meant, “Why are you so bent on this?”

Gesturing to himself, “He hurt Sheila’s feelings,” ( <3 <3 )

“Sheila?”

“She single-handedly took down the chopper.” ( * * ) “We’d have the police on our asses and that boy scout says to lose her.” 

Aiden, at this moment, seemed enthralled by whatever story she was telling him, his hand touching the top of hers. He let out a small laugh and she followed suit. 

“I want something else.”

( o o ) “Oh?” He perked up, “Do tell.”

“You’re all computer literate and stuff, right?”

“uh huh, uh huh,” rapid head nods. ( X X ) “You want to log into FacePlace.”

Taken aback, “How did-?”

“Please, you're not that hard to figure out... That and your user data shows you checked your feed on average 200 times a day. Must be killing you.” ( ^ * ) He feigned empathy, pulled out his phone and waved it near my face, “You’d be untraceable-”

“Whatever, deal or no deal?” Unsure of how I'd work up the courage to do it.

“You do it, you get 2 minutes.”

“Five minutes, what the hell am I going to do in two minutes?” I had a few things I needed to check out, two minutes wasn’t going to cut it.

“Three minutes, final.” ( X X )

“Fine, three minutes and you show me what’s under the mask.”

He pointed a finger and hesitated, “Deal.” Grabbing my forearm and motioning for me to do the same, “Now it’s official. Better get going, Your screen-time’s about to walk out the door.” ( ^ ^ )

"Fuck." I stood up off the tall stool and shuffled towards the bar. What was I going to say? What was the ultimate cock block line I could use aside from hopping on the daddy train and saying “Are you my father” or...I didn’t even have an alternative. I'd gotten there rather suddenly, standing behind them now, mouth open with nothing to say. The brunette stepped back, hair sweeping over her shoulder. I couldn’t do it. I looked back at Wrench who gave me a double thumbs up as I shook my head. Deciding to abort the mission and prepare to back out, Aiden turned, a quick look of surprise across his fae and then he looked up, most likely scanning the bar for Wrench.

“Excuse me.” It was a low warning.

I grabbed his sleeve, mouth still open, unable to look at him. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!

“You know her?” The brunette asked, teetering between offended and annoyed.

“I think you’re lost,” Directed at me, pulling his sleeve out of my grasp.

It felt like I stood there for an eternity and despite the abundance of time that passed in my mind, not one line came to me.  
The brunette motioned around me, tugging playfully at the hem of his coat before placing a light smack on his ass. He was already mad, I was going to hear about it regardless, so I did the only thing I could think of and grabbed the sides of his face, pulled his head down, and kissed him. His body grew rigid, neck tensed and shoulders set back. Committed to winning my bet, I parted my mouth and tipped my head, quickly pulling back when for a brief moment his tongue flicked over my own. Did he just? I let go and withdrew, trying to steady my breath.

"What the hell is your problem?" He was pissed.

"Uh," embarrassment flooded in, “ I-I don’t-”. I stepped back and observed the collateral damage as the brunette stormed off, a harsh shove to my side I knew I deserved. Aiden was mad. Like, the next few days were going to suck. But I won.

A hand on my back and the declaration, "No more drinks for you, Missy." Wrench to the rescue. 

Aiden shot Wrench a look that I didn’t quite understand and took off after the busty brunette, exiting the bar through the wooden archway. The gravity of how stupid I’d been began to sink in. I lost.

I grabbed the side edge of the bar, eyes wide, heart racing.

"You were supposed to say something, not tongue fuck his face." ( ; ; )

“Didn’t know what to say.”

Swinging his keys around his index finger, he placed the bottle down and tapped my shoulder with the back side of his hand and led the way out. I’d been nervous to run into Aiden in the parking lot, but the anxiety died down when I noticed the green van had been gone. 

____

I’d sat cross-legged on the couch behind Wrench, who sat on the floor, in the dark watching him play Phantasy Star Online, or PSO as he kept calling it. Though uninterested in the hack and slash mechanic completed by what seemed to be random button mashing, I watched regardless because if Aiden did come back, and he eventually would, hiding behind Wrench was my last defense. I toyed with the notion of throwing him under the bus, it'd been his idea after all, but Aiden would hear about the stupid bet I’d made and ride my ass for clinging to social media. 

As if on cue, the door opened abruptly and swung in. I grabbed Wrench’s shoulders and he oddly returned the gesture, leaning back into me and tapping my hand, ( <3 <3 ) “I got this.”

Aiden walked into the middle of the open living room, stopped, looked at us for a moment, sighed loudly, and walked through, opening the sliding door to the balcony and closing it behind him. We both looked at each other and I wondered if this meant there’d be no confrontation. 

A few seconds went by as we sat there, frozen, “Maybe I should talk to him?”

“Can’t we just enjoy the 120 fps and snuggle time?” He resumed playing, still whacking the same monster repeatedly and getting nowhere.

“If he’s not in murder mode, best I try and fix it now.” 

Pulling away from him, I’d gotten up and tiptoed across the shaggy rug in my socks and knocked on the glass slider. He didn’t acknowledge me, so I slid it open enough to put my head through.The rush of cold air was painful, my eyes stung from a near freezing mist in the air. “Is it safe to come out?”

“You mean, am I going to throw you off the balcony?” It’d been surprisingly calm. Equally threatening.

I ignored it. “No, the CTos thing.”

I saw him shake his head and a cloud of breath dissipate into the wind, “It’s fine.”

I stepped out, my sock soaking up the water on the cemented floor, and slid the door closed behind me. “Are you alright?”  
“Exactly how many drinks did you have?” Still facing away with me, voice stagnant.

“I didn’t.”

He turned at that, “You tasted like beer.” 

“Oh. Wrench had me try something he’d gotten, but I didn’t--”

Fully facing me, the zipper of his coat touched the back of my hand, “Then what exactly was that little stunt?”

A laugh bursted out, mostly due to nervousness, and quickly subsided, “Uh, it was a joke. I made a stupid bet with Wrench and--” I grabbed the back of my own neck and squeezed to help ground myself. I was far too anxious to watch what I’d said “It’s definitely not that funny, but at the time--”

“Hmm,” he gently moved the arm I’d had behind my neck and eased it by my side, his fingers tracing up the other arm. Grabbing my chin and he leaned into me, kissing me softly and moving his other hand behind my head. I put a hand against him, pushing back slightly. His mouth was hot and the shallow breaths spilling out over my cheek sent waves of panic and excitement through me. He pulled back abruptly, hands withdrawing and leaned back on the rail. He let out a short laugh, “It is pretty funny.” an odd smile of satisfaction followed and left with him as he went back inside. 

I stood in the cold, allowing the air to numb my cheeks, until I’d gathered myself. When I’d stepped back inside, ( O O ) “He came in by himself, I thought he’d murdered you.”

“And you sat there anyways?”

“What’s done is done, Can’t bring you back to life.” 

“Right.” I rubbed the sides of my head while I skimmed the area for the bag of clothes I’d had earlier, “What happened to the things from the van?”

“There in the lion’s den, why, whattaya lookin’ for?” His voice was ominous.

I let out a breath, “My socks are soaked.”

“You want to risk your life for socks?” His attention was still on the TV. ( X X )

“No, not really,” I stepped closer to Wrench, “Can you grab them?” 

“You want me to risk my life for socks?” ( - - )

“Maybe?” I did my best impression of a smile.

“No can do, I’m in the middle of a mission.”( - O)

“Just pause it.”

“I can’t just pause the game. It’s live. You want me to ask hundreds of people and NPCs to stop moving around so I can grab your socks?” 

“Is that even a thing?”

“No...sorry to say it, but you’re on your own.” ( X X )

I stood outside Aiden’s door, my hand resting on the knob, arguing with myself that I could just take the socks off and live. But I wanted to have them. In the event I wanted to storm out and throw a tantrum, I wanted them. This morning had been so, and just now, outside...fuck it. I slowly turned the knob and peered in. The room was dark, save the orange glow of the bathroom lights filtering under the doorway. I could faintly hear the sound of the shower. This was perfect. I scoured the room, lifting up bags and boxes, carefully putting things back. Leave no trace.

“What are you doing in here?” A gravelly voice from behind, most definitely Aiden’s, startled me. 

I turned around, holding my right hand out in front, “Just trying to find the bag from earlier.”

“The bag?” He walked toward me, green towel wrapped and tucked around his waist, until his chest pressed firmly against my hand. My eyes took a quick turn downwards. He’d always sported a shirt or jacket, it'd left a lot to the imagination, but underneath he'd been muscular. My eyes traced the line of hair from his navel to where it disappeared below the towel and followed the V back until I snapped myself out of it. 

“Yeah” my voice pitched, “I needed socks.”

“You needed socks?” With a doubtful tone, he put his hands on my shoulders, ignoring my attempts to get him out if my space.

“Well, when you say it like that, it sounds dumb. I think I’m just gonna go-” He put a thumb over my lips and brushed down, slightly tugging on the bottom before turning my head up in the palm of his hand. My breaths became heavy, much like they had when he’d pulled this shit outside. “You know, I shouldn’t have-”

“Stop talking.” He kissed my mouth, gently at first, testing the waters. But when I failed to stop him, it served as an invitation to press harder; angling his head and pushing his tongue in over my own. The sudden change from annoyance to whatever this was felt both surreal and amazing. At any given moment I half expected him to pull back, remembering he couldn’t stand me and I, most assuredly, loathed him. Turning my head to breathe, he'd used his free hand to pull my waist into him, his grip almost painful. Why didn't I mind? I knew that I'd put my foot down and stop him. That at any moment I put an end to this. But, that moment passed and I did nothing. My mind fired off that perhaps this was Stockholm syndrome--it'd explained a lot. Like where the hell my resolve had disappeared to.

He shuffled us over to the bed, my legs stumbling backward over nothing, until I'd felt the ridge of the mattress hitting the middle of my thigh. I broke from him, my face pulling back a few inches, wide-eyed upon my own realization where this was going and how I hadn't thought through how far I was willing to let this go. His eyes met my own, some sort of recognition held, followed by a cocky upturn on his lips and a confident push back. My body flopped on the bed, my arms reaching out to ease the fall, in vain. Following suit, his broad form climbed up over me, an elbow digging into the mattress while his other hand lifted my head, picking up where we’d left off. Was this really happening? Was I just going to mindlessly comply as my skin started to flush and my consciousness turned to mush? A stray hand teased near the band of my leggings, his fingers walking along like they'd been legs, threatening to dip down, until he'd had his fill of torment...or maybe I'd had mine, and slipped down effortlessly. His mouth migrated down and nibbled its way along my jaw, finally latching onto my neck. I squirmed under him while fingers fought their way down the fabric and along my cold skin. Without pause or warning, he pressed a finger against me, a soft moan escaped my mouth before I caught myself and tried to sit up. 

“Relax,” he hushed, returning to sucking the pale skin of my neck. He resumed rubbing gently, circling the opening like a hawk in a field “You’re wet already.” Surprise evident. Instinctively I wanted to say no. No, I wasn't enjoying this. No, I didn't want you down there. But I couldn’t exactly argue the contrary. I bit my lip and tried to work up the nerve to do something other than lay still. I wrapped my arms around him, feeling the hot muscle move beneath the skin of his back. 

“Ai-” I'd started to say when my mouth was once more covered. His head and hand coordinated, both moving synchronically under a gentle pressure that built up until it'd become unbearable. Finally done with circling, he to entered me, one finger soon becoming two. I let out another moan, and he swallowed it, pleased with himself. As if any noise I'd made was a sign of victory.

He moved a leg over, as if to kneel at my side, “We gotta lose the pants," through heavy breaths. He retracted, using both hands to rushedly shimmy them down until I took over and kicked them off past my ankles. Now positioning his palm up, he re-entered, pressing against the front side of me, the pressure uncomfortable.

I sank my head back into the mattress to escape his lips, “Whatta you doing?” I’d asked alarmed.

He hesitated, as if distracted, “Looking for something.”

I glowered, “It's not the lost and found.” Smirking at the comment, he carried on until he'd hit something that startled me. He pressed up into me, replacing the consistent touch with short, fast strokes against my wall. Some place that'd been otherwise unknown. I gasped.

“Found it.” It felt good. Stupidly good, and I wanted him to do it again. Could he do it again? Please? I lifted my hips slightly, edging him on. Gratified with himself, he slid his fingers over it, passed it. I felt my body rock, my hips still turning. Any silent indication that I wanted more. He ignored it and focused on moving back and forth. Leaning back in, he kissed me harshly, biting the my bottom lip before harshly taking my mouth back into his. I pulled my head back, but he’d hit the spot again and I moaned louder into him, squirming under his weight. His body becoming still, he moved his head away from me, sporting a grin that made me feel almost angry. Receding down, I had all but wondered where he was going until he’d moved my knee out, easing himself between my legs. He wrapped an arm around my leg, pressing the shin into his shoulder. 

Reactively, I pressed my knees together. Everything had felt so good up until this point, but now it all had felt like an accident. My legs were shaking and breaths were short and flat. This wasn't casual territory, not for me. Not for most people. I felt terrified. I could feel it as my arms tensed and my throat closed. He sat up and looked at me questioningly, “What’s going on.”

“I don’t want to do this.” My voice wavered.

Aiden stopped, “You don’t?” Understandably confused. “We can stop.” He'd seemed more animated than I'd ever seen him. His face and hands working to make the statement as authentic as possible. Like he'd really be fine if we stopped. I didn't want to stop, but I wasn't sure I wanted to go forward. 

Realizing I’d been unclear, “ I don’t want to stop, I just don’t want to do this.”

A light went off behind his eyes, a coy smirk and a short exaltation that almost sounded like the beginning of a laugh, “You don’t want me to go...down on you?” He watched me intently.

I shook my head.

“Can I ask why?” Caught somewhere between amused and curious, I could tell if I didn’t answer now, it’d come up again later. However, I wasn't sure if I wanted to reveal the soft underbelly of my insecurities and lack of experience. But if I didn't say something...

I mumbled, “I feel kinda weird about this.”

"Weird about this," he motioned his hand to me and himself, "or," pointing down past my shaking knees.

“I haven't," part of me wanted to.tell him that I'd only done this once auth my ex, and I'd felt irrationally terrified, but I didn't want to give him that kind of ammunition. "I just, It's been...i don't know."

“Can I try something?” Optimistically cautious. 

“Like what?” Not completely trusting it. Whether I said it or not, I worried he'd somehow known.

He tapped the side of my leg, wordlessly asking me to relax them. Using a finger to follow an imaginary line from my hip to my knee, “Can I kiss you here?” 

It was an odd request, and even odder to witness him soften his face and voice, an attempt, I imagined, to seem less imposing. “Uh, yeah, I guess.” 

Keeping his eyes on me, he proceeded to bend forward and lightly kiss my knee. It almost tickled. My face turned red. He moved his finger to the top of my thigh, “Can I kiss you," he drew an invisible shape over the area, "here?”

“uh huh,” I nodded as I tried to shrug off the tension building within me. I knew what this was. Where it was going. He had kissed there and as expected, I didn’t explode or turn into dust. I was fine. For the time being. 

Parting my legs, now moving to my inner thigh, “How bout here?”

“That’s okay,” it was breathy. As ridiculous as I found this to be, there was a tightening in my stomach that rose and fell as the charade continued. Though utterly predictable, I found knowing how this'd end made each step closer that much more intense. It left me to wonder how many stops between here and there. My concentration was broken, this time instead of a chaste kiss, he ran his tongue over it, the contrast in heat felt searing, and playfully sucked the skin, mouthing it like he was kissing me. 

Now, we were on the soft pale flesh above where he wanted to go. The destination he wanted to visit, but I'd made him take a detour. There was no more real estate between here and there. No more distractions as he playfully tapped his fingers over the soft flesh. 

"Can I go back inside you?” He’d said it in a suggestive manner that felt obscene. I quickly nodded, at the end of my own rope. Unnecessarily cautious, he went in slowly, once again turning his hand up, and pressed around the front of me. Licking my lips, I was right back where I had been, at his mercy, because whatever this was, this is what I wanted. 

“Here?” I nodded impatiently. His lips brushed over it, licking as close to the imaginary border as he dared, careful not to push his luck. My head tipped back, allowing a disembodied sigh to escape. 

He pressed a thumb against my clit, the harsh pressure making me wince, but the promise of what was to come made it tolerable. “Now, Kate, what about here.” 

“Yeah,” my voice cracked.

He wrapped his arm back around my leg, and kissed me. I'd felt silly because it was more like a light touch than anything else and I couldn't rationalize why I'd been so afraid. With my guard lowered and no longer seeing the need for caution, his tongue flicked hard and I'd let out a panicked whimper. I fell back into the bed, and melted into the blankets as he obviously knew what he was doing and I clearly had no desire to stop it. But it did stop. Eventually, as I shamelessly moaned into my hands, and pushed my hips into the air, he had pulled back. 

“Turn over.” It was direct, something desperate in his voice.

My mind was still hazy, “What?”

He rolled me over, grabbed my hips and pulled me onto my knees, leaving my face to get swallowed up by the mattress. He pressed himself into me, the towel suddenly no longer there, and just his hard shaft, pulsing against me. He’d shuffled around and rest the tip in my entrance, rocking his hips ever slow slightly, and then easing himself in. It felt tight inside, almost painful. I arched my back, trying to find a comfortable position. “You ready?” It was the only warning I got as he backed out of me and then rushed forward, slamming into the end. My mouth gaped and the squeal I’d let out turned into a scream. He continued to pound into me, the sound of his hips smacking into my ass drowned out the sound of the bed frame squeaking and the headboard hitting the wall. 

“Fuck.” I yelled into a balled up blanket. It was so hard, but it felt good. Each thrust and and drawback felt fucking spectacular. Every feeling piled up on each other until a thread inside me pulled so taut that I was ready to cum. My muscles twitched and pushed together, my legs gave out and I let out one last “Oh fuck,” Before I’d felt hot liquid drip onto my back. 

The bed wobbled as Aiden crashed lifelessly beside me, letting out a satisfied groan as he stretched. 

In short receding waves the high to wore off, and then it dawned on me that I had Aiden’s semen sliding its way from my back alongside my stomach. I shot up, stumbling for the bathroom and slammed the door behind me.

Satisfied that I’d removed all the evidence and sure that I knew where my pants were, I emerged from the bathroom to the sight of Aiden laying on his side, naked in all his glory. “Focus” I’d said it aloud and blindly searched for my pants.

“You lose something?” I’d never heard him sound so...sleepy.

“My pants.” Matter of fact. I'd find my pants, leave, and be angry at myself for the rest of the night, alone. 

“You want to borrow something?” The suggestion was odd, and I had to look at him to begin guessing where he’d been going with it.

I didn't want to borrow anything. The last few days I'd worn bits of Aiden's wardrobe and look where it got me. If Wrench had gone to bed by now, then I could sneak out to the other bathroom, take a scalding hot shower, and reevaluate my life elsewhere. Ignoring Aiden, I cracked the door open, the living room alight with a blue glow. 

( <3 <3 ) “Is it my turn to find socks?” He teased loud enough for us and everyone on the floor to hear.

I slammed the door shut, pressing my back up against it. “Yeah, I’ll borrow some clothes.”

He rolled over on his back, clearly incapable of feeling the need to cover up, “You really came in here for socks?” A short laugh followed, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos are nice, comments are better. I look forward to feedback


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